


Everwinter

by LogosMinusPity



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Adventure, Betrayal, Civil War, Epic, F/F, Freljord, Gen, Political Intrigue, Post-Canon, The Watchers - Freeform, Unrequited Love, war of three sisters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 20:38:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 75,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4639389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LogosMinusPity/pseuds/LogosMinusPity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>10,000 years ago, The War of Three Sisters began when the Watchers were cast into the Howling Abyss. Now, Avarosa's Chosen, Ashe, proclaims herself as Queen, and seeks to unite the Freljord. Sejuani, the Winter's Wrath, is not about to turn from her own dream of conquering the Freljord. Yet behind all of it, dark events are stirring into motion, and the Ice Witch seeks to bring back the evil that all thought was defeated.</p><p>A tale of the civil war of the Freljord.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sejuani brooded.

As the southern lands melted under the all too fleeting summer season, as the newly allied Avarosans and Frost Watchers regrouped and reorganized under so-called ‘Queen’ Ashe, as the barbarians and southerners alike began to repulse the Winter’s Claw raiders from the southern valleys and settlements, Sejuani remained in her mead hall, brow ever dark and wineskin untouched.

So did she lord over her frozen kingdom, and brood.

And her anger, at first hot and burning, soon turned to the same searing cold from which she had been forged.

The _gall_ of it all.

Eyes trained on the roaring fire pit in the center of the mead hall, Sejuani did not notice how her clansman and women treaded nervously around her, especially as her hands balled into fists. There were none who wished to be the object of the warlord’s rage. They knew her; they respected her. Not simply for her strength of body and will, but for the strength and prosperity she had cultivated in the whole of the Winter’s Claw.

They were stronger, wealthier, more populous, with lands stretching further than remembered by any in generations. Gone were the winters of famine and plague, decimating their numbers. Gone was the ignominy of being pushed steadily north, squeezed tighter and tighter into the blasted frozen wastelands with no game or grain to feed from. Gone were the days of the Winter’s Claw being whispered as the fading tribe, Serylda’s legacy to die out once and for all.

The resurgence of their might, their dominance, of the fear they inspired...the boar riders, the recruits and settlements who suddenly emerged, raising the banner of crossed axes and pledging their loyalty to the Winter’s Wrath...for all that her name and her tribe were spoken across the tongues of every last resident of the Freljord, it had not come without struggle.

The Freljord itself was an unforgiving land, and nothing was given without cost, nothing gained without strength to take it. Sejuani knew that better than most, for it had been sheer will of perseverance that had brought her this far.

_‘Serylda’s blood, last and strongest, of winter’s forge ‘ere made from ice, will seize the tribes through strength unbound...conqueror of the Freljord...’_

A prophecy made by the Wand-Witch under the burning embers of the then meager mead hall fire, to the scrawny girl who was the last of her family. Words, and naught else, but that had been the beginning. That had been enough

It was those words, believed by none at the time, that had carried Sejuani through the Year of the Bitterest Winter. It had been with those words ever echoing in her head that Sejuani had molded herself, had forged herself in the harshest conditions of the North.

When her frame shot up, when muscle packed over the once wiry limbs and she could beat even the biggest boys of her age to submission with ease, people began to remember the oracle’s words. When she was the first to tame a frost boar in a generation, when she found Serylda’s broken helm and claimed it for her own, the whispers grew louder.

When at the coming of age she attained her status of warrior, and then promptly challenged and took the title of warlord from the old, ineffective man who had held it...none questioned, for there were no doubts left by then.

Everything she had accomplished, she had built thus far, _no one_ had given to her. No birthright had given her the warlord’s throne in the mead hall, no magical bow had bestowed some divine right upon her to give her the veneration of her followers. Only the words uttered by a blind wise-woman had set her path, but Sejuani had clawed and climbed and _earned_ every laurel and victory to get her to where she was today...to bring the Winter’s Claw back from the brink of extinction to the strongest of the tribes in the Freljord, even if they remained the smallest.

And then Ashe...Ashe of all people had the _gall_ to just announce herself as ruler, simply because of a magic bow and Princess Lissandra’s weak will.

She had the gall to send Sejuani an offering of _food_...as if they would bow down like meek dogs to the Avarosan’s claim all because of the hard years of winter starvation...years they had no longer repeated since Sejuani had taken power as warlord, years that the Avarsons had never aided them through before. Since those years their tribe had prospered and grown and become strong again. Without the Avarosans.

The gall to marry that... _barbarian_...and expect Sejuani to respect her, to respect him, to cow before their horses and warriors from the Steppes to the south.

Sejuani bared her teeth.

Ashe might have claim over the Avarosan, but Sejuani—and the Winter’s Claw—would never bend knee to someone who claimed rulership over them by mere right of birth.

If Ashe had been “chosen”, then so too had Sejuani, and she had built her fate through her own blood and toil.

Through her own strength.

Strength the Freljord would bitterly need if the Dark Days that Udyr and Volibear spoke of were indeed coming.

It was that concern, no doubt, that now brought Volibear, flanked by Udyr and Olaf, before her—her “advisors”, those who she respected as equals to her, and the only ones who would dare to disturb her quiet but loudly apparent brooding.

“You need allies.”

Sejuani bared her teeth, though at no one in particular. “Allies.” She nearly spat the word, though Volibear remained unphased by her clear distaste.

“We are at an impasse. With the Frost Watchers united under Ashe, and the southern barbarians at her and her husband’s command, they have a numbers advantage over your tribe, at least ten to one. You cannot deny this.”

She couldn’t, but her hands still tightened into fists atop the armrests of her throne-like chair. She did not miss the way that, while it still continued, the buzz of conversation in the mead hall had dimmed, attention now surreptitiously turned toward their warlord.

It was to be expected. Sejuani had never held decisions behind closed doors, had never once tried to mask  deliberations from her own people, and the quiet whispers speaking of the alliances and “Queen Ashe” had not escaped her notice.

She cleared her throat, not bothering to hide her voice.

“And where do you suggest I look for such allies? Two of the Three Sisters have now joined, leaving us alone of the great tribes. Ashe chose to marry that barbarian, supplementing her militia with the horse riders from the south.” Even mentioning it still brought to life a harsh and sickly burning anger in Sejuani’s breast, even though it had been many long months since the official marriage. “So tell me, then, _where do you suggest I look_?”

“What of any of the smaller tribes? Other settlements…” Udyr mused.

“Almost all of the lesser tribes have joined our cause already. There are not enough left to match numbers of the likes of the Frostguard and Avarosan combined.”

“What about Noxus?” suggested Olaf, drowning down the leg of pheasant he had just finished with a mug of ale. Sejuani did not miss how Udyr turned to face him more sharply than the others, eyes glittering.

“What _about_ Noxus?” he rumbled, echoes of a bear’s growl in his voice.

Olaf shrugged, seemingly unaware as he gave a hearty burp. “They’re just south of the border. Big armies, lots of soldiers to spare, and seemed like they were pretty keen on eradicating those horse barbarians before Ashe married their “king” and gave them amnesty. And they did just sent you that messenger, after all. Plus from what I’ve heard, their motto of ‘strength’ doesn’t seem to far from our own, eh? Could be a possibility. They definitely have numbers.”

Udyr finally cut in, before Sejuani could even form a response.

“Noxus is poison, and any interest they have in the Freljord is a mean to their own ends, _not_ for us. They have no allies for a reason, and they will turn on us as soon as they think they can seize everything for themselves. I _know_. I was in Ionia.”

“Bah! This isn’t Ionia, spirit-walker. Take it easy. And if Noxus tries to double cross us, we turn around and kick their asses back out. Teach them a lesson about the Freljord.”

The veins in Udyr’s neck corded out, and his face grew dark with a rage Sejuani had seen in action all too well. “Do _not underestimate_ \--”

“Enough.” Sejuani cut in, letting a touch of cold thunder into her voice from her growing vexation. They would not squabble like children. “I heard the messenger's vague and noncommittal offer, and I know of both Noxus’ history—” She glanced at Udyr. “—as well as their current situation. Noxus has its own concerns on its Demacian front, and will not commit itself too heavily here, especially if we cannot hold our own and are ripe for the picking from the Avarosan. And I will not rely on another nation for strength, will not let them think us so weak as to _need_ them.”

Her lips twisted and her nostrils flared into a sneer.

“I’m just saying,” continue Olaf, holding his hands up placatingly in silent askance to be heard out. “We need allies? No one else is forthcoming. Big empire like Noxus getting involved could help tip the scales, make those measly southerners quake a bit more. Not be quite so eager to face us. And if they plan to make it an invasion at the end of things...well plan for it too and make ‘em regret it.”

He ended with a throat slitting motion.

“Unless you have better ideas?”

She gritted her teeth, aware of all the eyes on her, curious and waiting. Aware fully of just how much weight her words carried. Finally, she hissed and spat to the side. “Fine. If you think that Noxus is so worth our time as potential allies, then we will see.”

She raised one hand, and three of her _stallari_ lieutenants immediately stood from the long tables and at ready attention.

“Send a messenger south. One of our fastest. See if this Noxian general south of the Avarosa is willing to actually treat with us, or if their terms make us no different than those barbarian dogs they want—and priorly failed—to exterminate. Let us see if Noxus will lead with words, or with steel.”

A sharp salute and bow were her answers, and the three voices chimed in time. “At once, Warlord.”

Sejuani watched without blinking as her stellari exited the mead hall, eager to fulfill their orders. What would her men and women think, she briefly wondered. Not that it mattered. They followed her every word without question, and none had ever dared to challenge her in _holmganga_ to take the the title of warlord from her sinceshe had first seized herself when only eighteen. The tribe was united under her. But in the face of the Avarosan-Frostguard alliance, in face of Ashe’s marriage and alliance to the barbarians...her options were growing steadily more limited.

Sejuani was nothing if not a military strategist, and she could not deny the advantage that numbers now gave “Queen” Ashe.

She could not push for open war. Not in the given situation.

Yet she refused to sacrifice the Winter’s Claw, to throw away all of the sacrifice and blood her people had shed, that she had shed.

And if the Dark Days were truly upon them, they needed to gather their strength more than ever. She needed another option.

With a noise of disgust, Sejuani finished her wine skin, sliding off her makeshift throne of stone and hide and antlers with ease before marching toward the back of the mead hall. Toward the kitchens and personal quarters.

She was only half aware of the footsteps that followed her; her focus was already elsewhere.

“Prepare a skin of mead and another of water, and rations for a fortnight hunt!”

No bother in waiting to hear for the response; the cooks were already furiously collecting such supplies for her. She instead moved on toward her personal room, where her armor and steady weaponry lay in safe keeping.

It took only a few moment of rustling her gear together before she was at last interrupted by her onlookers.

“What do you intend, Sejuani?”

Volibear spoke first, as always, his voice a rumble of curiosity. At the sides of his great frame still stood Olaf and Udyr, watching for hint of what Sejuani was up to, of what they might next expect of the woman they had sworn and allied themselves to.

Sejuani finished strapping on the last bit of her armor before turning to face them fully, her words flowing easily from her tongue.

“When your people could not find reason to lead them to arms, Volibear, you left and entered the Gelid Vortex to find that purpose for them. When I was a child, and my people were decaying and and on the brink of collapse, it was the blind oracle who gave me my fortune, who deemed my purpose. It was she who unveiled my eyes to the path I have now walked. I hardened myself in blizzards, forged myself in the coldest nights of winter...I will not abandon my destiny now. We must fight, or we must give way to those who will.”

Though he did not say anything at her proclamation, Sejuani could see the wolfish smile of approval on Volibear’s face, the nod of assent from Udyr. She hefted her heavy, wolf-pelt cloak over a shoulder, grabbed the single horn of her helmet with one hand. She let her voice carry with ease, ringing to the rafters.

“I’m going to to the Wilds, to seek the guidance of the stars and the will of the ancestors...to find the oracle if she still yet lives. When I return, be ready.” She paused, meeting each of their eyes with her steely and unblinking gaze, bright even in the twilight. “The Winter’s Claw bows before no one.”

* * *

“I see,” said Ashe, turning her gaze to stare out across the city. The balcony was open to the air, the weather still crisp, and the sun still enjoyably warm, though midsummer had well since passed, and it was simply a matter of time until winter stretched its greedy claws back out at them.

It was only a matter of time until Sejuani attacked again.

She had hoped that maybe, _just maybe_ , Sejuani would see reason. She had hoped that the overwhelming might of her unification of the Frostguard under Avarosa’s banner—alongside the alliance to Tryndamere’s horse clans—would give Sejuani pause. She had hoped that the display of sheer martial superiority in numbers would at last make the hardened warlord of the north bow her head in deference, and finally open diplomatic accords.

Yet it seemed as though Sejuani was even further beyond her understanding than what she had thought.

“You are certain it was her, though?” Ashe asked politely, wanting to be sure.

The Demacian scout, Quinn, inclined her head, shuffling through the sheaf of papers she had brought with her to the impromptu meeting.

Quinn had appeared on the doorstep of Ashe’s palace in her original southern stronghold of Avarosa two days earlier, begging both food and shelter as an agent of Demacia, and asking for a direct audience with the new Queen of the Freljord. Ashe herself had only just returned from Rakelstake, and had been forced to put off the meeting for a day, until more necessary political and ruling matters had been dealt with.

But now that she had cleared her afternoon schedule, she could receive the scout and her news as she preferred.

In private.

She and Tryndamere had chosen one of the smaller balcony rooms to meet with Quinn—one only big enough for a single full length dining table, rather than three. The guards kept watch in the hallway outside, behind the thick wooden doors, and though they had chosen to sit by the open balcony, the babbling fountain below kept their voices from travelling.

Valor, the great Demacian eagle that had accompanied Quinn, paused from eating the bits of raw meat he had been perusing, giving a somewhat indignant squawk at Ashe’s query, as though it were questioning the very integrity of Quinn as a scout.

For her part, Quinn simply nodded, stirring the cream into her steaming tea before leafing through her papers.

“As certain as I could be. Here,” She proffered one of her papers, and Ashe accepted, almost confused at first by the expert drawing penned onto it, rather than whatever notes she had been expecting. “That’s her, right? The Winter’s Wrath.”

“Indeed it is…” Ashe murmured. She trailed one finger across the lines of the broken horn helm, stopping herself as soon as the charcoal began to smudge. “You are a very skilled artist.”

Quinn bowed her head to the compliment. “There are many skills that find use when scouting.”

“And what of Sejuani?” interrupted Tryndamere, his voice deep and pensive. “Did you see much else while there? Anything she plans, maybe? She is...not communicative.”

“Apologies. I dared not make my presence known, and kept my clandestine distance. You both likely know far more of her nature than I, though it was clear that her intentions appear to be warlike.”

Not a surprise to any. Ashe shifted, fighting back the low sigh that ever seemed to be on her breath when the increasingly problematic subject of their northern neighbors—and their leader—was brought up. Instead she nodded softly, but stopped when she caught the way Quinn’s brow drew down into a dark line. There was more. Unease welled up in her.

“However...I did witness somewhat that I believe both you and my liege will find concerning. I observed a Noxian scout delivering a message to the Winter’s Claw holdings, though he returned south empty-handed. I was unable to intercept him or determine what he was there for...or if his journey was successful.”

Tryndamere hummed at that, and even Ashe had to frown. Anything involving Noxus, with whom the Avarosan shared an unofficial border, was troubling to say the least.

Certainly not what she had expected.

This shouldn’t have been the case. When Princess Lissandra opened negotiations with Ashe, when she—breaking all tradition and precedent—agreed to bend knee and acknowledge as Ashe as ruler and uniter, they should have been that much closer to finally, finally seeing an end to the eon-long division that had so sundered the Freljord. Yet Sejuani had dug in her heels.

Ashe could not evade the sinking knowledge that they hovered closer to the brink of unbridled civil war than ever since the Three Sisters had first split.

She did not desire war, and she never had. Force was a last resort, and she had done all within her power to avoid it.

Marrying Tryndamere, allying with the Frostguard...and yet for every effort Ashe put in toward her dream of uniting the Freljord, toward including the Winter’s Claw in that goal, Sejuani turned face and put them further and further at odds.

The sudden burgeoning numbers of the Winter’s Claw, their aggressive expansion southward, the highest frequency of raids and skirmishes into Avarosan territory in living memory, and now the potential alliance with _Noxus_ of all groups...no, Sejuani had set herself on a path that Ashe could not even begin to understand. They stood well and truly across a divide, one that Sejuani was unable—or perhaps unwilling—to bridge. And Ashe grew more and more certain by the day  it was sending them all careening toward an inevitable war that would tear everyone apart.

If Sejuani had indeed reached a point where she might be forming deals with their power-hungry southern neighbors...

“And what does Demacia think of their sworn enemies potentially involving themselves in the Freljord? We would gladly welcome any aid King Jarvan would be willing to offer to...deter the Noxians.”

Ashe crossed her legs and folded her hands, waiting for a response as Quinn took her time with a long, pensive sip of tea before finally answering.

“Understand that this is off the diplomatic records, Your Majesty.” Quinn bowed her head, voice soft, though there was steel beneath it. It was something Ashe could well appreciate. “Demacia has no official stance on the Freljord, King Jarvan III no endorsements to any one tribe’s claim as ruler over another’s.”

Quinn paused to take another sip from the porcelain cup she still held.

“Our primary concern has been and remains any potential involvement of Noxus from the south, be it invasion or…” Her eyes flickered briefly down to the drawing of Sejuani that remained on Ashe’s lap. “...alliance. However His Majesty will not risk starting another front with Noxus. Not without clear proof Noxus has already started conflict themselves.”

“Rather kind of Prince Jarvan’s highest ranking scout to give us such intel off the record, then, no?” mused Tryndamere in a deep rumble, lips quirked upward in a smile beneath his wiry mustache.

Quinn offered a similar smile back. “As I said, we have no official ties to any self-proclaimed government of the Freljord at the given moment. However…” She inclined her head, standing up even as she set her saucer and cup down onto the side table. “Their Majesties believe that they can look forward to changing that when a truly united Freljord hopefully emerges in the near future. Now, if I may…?”

Ashe waved her hand for the official dismissal, remembering one last thing only once Quinn and Valor were nearly at the door.

“Oh! Your drawing—”

“Please,” Quinn bowed again, and even from the distance, her eyes were kind and knowing. “It is yours to keep.”

Then the door was closing behind her, and Ashe was left with the pensive silence of her own thoughts, the life-like rendering of Sejuani’s features staring out at her through the sheet of parchment. Her fingers smoothed the edges of the paper, not daring to smudge the crisp lines of charcoal a second time.

Tryndamere rose from his seat, his substantial frame dominating the room even from where he leaned against the balcony, eyes studying Ashe.

“It is a very good drawing, yes? And the eagle scout, Quinn, I think her gestures are meaningful. It is good to know Demacia wishes for our prosperity.”

Ashe pursed her lips, sipping from her own tea. “Troops or supplies from such a powerful kingdom would mean quite a bit more than off the record well-wishes, particularly with Noxus sitting on our back doorstep.”

Tryndamere’s brow darkened again at the mention of Noxus, and the veins in his neck stood out briefly.

“They are sworn enemies, but it seems that Demacia will not dare to pick sides in our war unless Noxus does so first. Still, the information is useful to have. To know.”

Knowledge above all else, though even knowledge had its clear limits.

Too many late night hours had already been wasted trying to discern whatever strange logic moved Sejuani’s actions. Time and time again Ashe had tried to reach out, had tried to understand where the reason was in how Sejuani refused diplomacy, alliance, even simply opening accords to merely _talk_. It was madness. And yet with each passing day the possibility of open civil war grew on the red horizon, and for all her reasoning, Ashe could not assuage the creeping guilt that she had somehow pushed them both to that point.

_Everything I have done, I have done for the greater good of the people...why can’t you understand that, Sej?_

“Fierce though her warriors are, we outnumber the Winter’s Claw by a near order of magnitude. Should she push war, she cannot win.”

Tryndamere’s words, though kind logic, did not give Ashe peace of mind. Logic could not be relied on here. If there was any logic to Sejuani’s actions, Ashe had yet to discern it. She sighed and shook her head.

“If you are worried about the potential Noxian collusion, perhaps we should strike first. If she so respects strength, then perhaps we must end this war before she begins it.”

“No.” Ashe spoke more strongly than intended, and then caught herself, taking a moment. “I am sorry but no, Trynd. If we attack them, if we _conquer_ them, we are no better than Sejuani. I will see the Freljord united, but I will not use my armies to force it.”

Tryndamere raised an eyebrow, smoothing over his beard with his fingers. “She may not give you an option in that matter, Ashe…”

“Then it will be on her shoulders, not mine. I will not start a war...but if I must, I will finish it.”

There was a long pause, and then Tryndamere nodded his head once, assenting. “So then what now?”

Wasn’t that always the question? Yet there was only one thing to be done.

“We have to wait.” Ashe turned her head toward the open balcony. Her gaze shifted out toward the mountains, to the north, even as her fingers absentmindedly caressed the paper of Quinn’s drawing. “What comes next depends on the Winter’s Claw.”

_It depends on Sej._

* * *

The northern reaches of the Freljord were blasted, empty lands. Great glacial plains, frozen tundra, icefalls, permafrost older than the dawn of man. It was terrain that was punishing on the best of days, and lethal on the worst, unfriendly to man and beast alike.

But those that survived it…

They were stronger for it. Sejuani had always been stronger for it.

She had been already an eight-day out into the wilds, carefully rationing what food she had packed and supplementing it with the occasional hare or other small game that crossed paths with her. Yet still no sign of the oracle.

The words of the old midwives were the only guidance she had, talk of how the wand-witches lived in the far north, close to the Gelid Vortex, in quiet, solitary existence.

The wise-woman from Sejuani’s childhood had been old and decrepit even by Sejuani’s memory, and that had been nearly two decades earlier. She had not visited the Winter’s Claw since then. More than likely, her bleached bones now decorated the unforgiving, white landscape of the north, returned to the cold that had given birth to her magics.

Still, Sejuani refused to call her search early.

On the ninth day, with Vortex looming menacingly in the distance, Sejuani spotted it. Atop Bristle, she stiffened, shaking off the hoar frost that had formed over her gauntlets and reigns. Bristle stopped immediately, and Sejuani squinted at the foothills of the Ironbacks that last to the northeast.

It was a small cabin-like structure, built into the ground and covered with enough snow to blend into the white wasteland but for the thin stream of smoke that curled upward from a hidden chimney.

Urging Bristle into a gallop, Sejuani crossed the snow plain quickly, coming up on the residence. Beside the steady curl of smoke, there was no sign of life. No evidence of humanity or footsteps.

“Easy, Bristle,” she instructed, eyes on the ancient and worn door. It was covered in a thick skin of ice. Yet beneath the glaze...was the old insignia of a wand? Or did her eyes deceive her?

She gave one loud pounding knock.

“Hello! I come seeking a wise-woman. Hello?”

She swallowed thickly, and, unable to hear any response, dropped her shoulder and forced the door open, ice shattering apart upon contact.

Sejuani entered quickly, flurries of snow still whirling in before she could close the door, and surveyed her surroundings.

The inside was all stone, a dwelling literally carved into the mountain itself, great blocks of granite decorated with intricate patterns and runes from a different time, a golden era when the Freljord had once been united and the center of civilization.

This building was old, as old as Rakelstake and the Howling Abyss, yet it had survived the countless years, as had its sole inhabitant.

She sat in the far corner, a bundle of torn rags and wind-cracked skin broken by a crooked, twisted smile.

Sejuani shivered upon looking at her. Despite the hearth, the inside of the small dwelling was cold, seemingly colder than the harsh air outside.

Her self-imposed task had not ended in vain.

“Wise-woman.” Sejuani bowed deeply, removing her helmet and baring her head and her unruly mess of short-shorn hair. “Please forgive my intrusion. I am Sejuani, now warlord of the Winter’s Claw, and I have come seeking your guidance, if you would give it.”

She waited for a long, uncertain moment, before the hag stirred, crooking one spindly finger in her direction.

“Come, child.” Her eyes were as milky white as Sejuani remembered, but they still seemed to pierce right through Sejuani, both seeing and unseeing. She gestured at the dusty floor to the side of her chair, and seeing no other seats, Sejuani slowly and humbly dropped to her knees.

Before the wizened and ancient teller of fortunes, Sejuani knelt, hands clasped together, as she stared up at the oracle, waiting.

The oracle did not speak again immediately. Instead, she reached out, and her gnarled, bony hands ran through Sejuani’s short-shorn hair. The touch was colder than ice to Sejuani’s scalp, making a shiver run down her spine before she could think to stop it. Fingers traced her hairline, her scars, the curve of her jaw and the point of her nose before drifting down to grip one bicep in a surprisingly firm hold that belied the wise-woman’s clear age.

“I remember you, Serylda’s scion. Just a twig of a little brat when I first got to you, weakest of your litter, so the midwives claimed. But you survived, and your brothers and sisters have long since marked their graves in the snow. You stand alone. You forged yourself with ice, and took the cold into you.” A crooked smile came to life on her face. “You have done well.”

“Wise-woman,” Sejuani dipped her head out of deference again.”Your words guided my axe and my step through all the years.”

The hand squeezed her arm again.

“Strong. So strong you have grown. Strong as Serylda was…how her blood blooms in you now...after centuries of sleep...”

Sejuani tilted her chin up a fraction higher. Her strength was hard fought, gained through years of trials and challenges, not given by some chance blood heritage.

“...yet you come to me now, though you say my words guided you. What further guidance does a warlord need?”

Sejuani turned her eyes down, molars grinding in the back of her mouth before she was able to summon the words.

“I need your help, Wand-Mother.” Only now did she let some of the urgency bleed into her voice. “In the south, Ashe proclaims herself Queen, convinces the Princess Lissandra to bend knee and merge the Frostguard into the Avarosan. Even more, she marries outside of the Freljord to—” The anger briefly choked Sejuani words, flashing hot in her breast before she managed to smother it with the cold rage she had learned to harness. “—to a barbarian lord from the steppes. They seek to overwhelm us with numbers, to claim the Freljord under some fraudulent pretense.”

Still, the heat burnt in her blood, red and raw, though it cooled as she waited for a response, for advice.

If the crone thought anything of Sejuani’s outburst, she did not show it.

“You come to seek my wisdom, yet it has not changed. Lead them.”

“Lead them? Against an army that may outnumber us ten to one?”

If she thought anything of such potential slaughter, the oracle showed none of it, continuing without pause.

“Ride into battle, and bring the heralds of war with you. Trust in your strength, and trust in my prophecies, Sejuani, Serylda’s Scion. You will have need of no ‘allies’, for yours is the fury of the North, born from the ice, and yours is the destiny to conquer it all.”

The crooked smile grew on the oracle’s face, showing what few, yellowed teeth remained in her mouth.

“Try, unless you are afraid to.”

Sejuani bristled, half-standing before she managed to catch herself. “I—no! I fear nothing! No one!”

“And yet you drag your feet, as if afraid of the risk, afraid to seize your destiny that you say you have followed for so many years.”

“I am not—” Sejuani began, indignant.

“How much are you willing to risk?” The crone’s voice interrupted, harsh as whip. “How much _can_ you risk in the face of losing it all? Are you willing to gamble everything on my word?”

Sejuani’s lips moved for a moment, and then her brow drew downward, set. “Everything. Nothing without cost. I _must win_. I _will_ win. I do not fear death or loss. Strength and necessity.”

Silence greeted her but for the panting of her own breath in her ears, the echoing of her angry declaration. But then the wise-woman spoke.

“Then...it is time at last.”

The oracle stood slowly, though Sejuani daren’t yet move herself. She kept her eyes trained on the wise-woman, her attention rapt and wholly focused on the wise-woman’s words. What the oracle said now could sway the very tides of the fates going forward.

“For ten thousand years, since the Watchers fell, the Freljord has been caught in stasis. The Three Sisters ever divided, and no one true ruler yet found. But the stars align now, and change fast approaches on the winds. Avarosa’s Chosen, a Frost Queen falsely claimed, and a red dawn. All sits before you, Sejuani, Serylda’s Scion, if you will but seize it, trust it. Not all is as it seems…”  

As she spoke, her voice began to morph, the hoarse and ragged edges of age cast away to something strange, smooth and ethereal, and almost echoing.

“Who…” Sejuani had to pause to wet her dry lips. Her muscles tensed, but she did not yet reach for a weapon. “Who _are_ you?”

The oracle smiled, turning her sightless gaze back down to Sejuani, as if pleased by the question.

“I have gone by many names in many lifetimes. Oracle, sister, Lissandra...Iceborn.”

As she spoke, she grew in size and stature, the air shimmering around her. Wrinkles smoothed, claw-like hands morphed into long, elegant fingers, and skin paled further, and further still, before finally adopting a blue tone that no mere human possessed.

Finally a woman stood over Sejuani, wearing a deep blue robe the color of the glacial seas, her eyes and forehead covered by a strange, almost horned helm, and feet covered by a mass of dark, almost black, icy crystals that had emerged from the dusty stone.

For once, Sejuani felt her voice fail her, disbelief crackling in her words, though her bones already acknowledged the truth of what her eyes told her.

“But...the stories always said...the Three Sisters all perished while fighting off the Watchers to save their tribes!” Sejuani knew she was gaping, but couldn’t even think to regain her dignity. She was standing in the presence of a living legend, of one of the original ancestors.

Lissandra’s— _the Lissandra’s_ —smooth lips curled upward in a knowing smirk.

“Avarosa and Serylda died, but I clung on, slowly regaining my strength as Iceborn over the long centuries...forced to bide my time from the shadows. Until now. Change is on the wind. Motions begin to turn that have remained frozen for ten thousand years. For the first time in millennia, new alliances are being forged and broken, and for the first time since the fall of the Watchers, a true heir to Serylda has been forged from the heart and spirit of the Freljord. Rise, Sejuani.”

Sejuani stood, somewhat awkwardly, mind still furiously trying to come to terms with the information her senses were feeding it.

“I tell you this now, just as I prophesied to you those years ago. You will need of no ‘allies’, for yours is the wrath of the North, born from the ice, and yours is destiny to claim it all. Trust in my word, and trust in your own strength. I will guide you forward.”

Lissandra reached out with one pale, manicured hand, pressing her palm over the metal of Sejuani’s breastplate, where her heart lay beating below the armor and fur and flesh.

“You have what power you need, Winter’s Wrath. Now you must _use it_.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is no time for words, only deeds. With renewed purpose, Sejuani takes the first step in fulfilling her destiny: to conquer the Freljord

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for all of the lovely feedback! I'm really just honored to know so many are reading and enjoying this work. Still in the midst of drowning in my PhD and rugby season, but here's Ch. 2! I hope you enjoy, and as always, any comments, criticism, or feedback is always appreciated.

Fort Frostwood.

The northernmost fortress of the Avarosan territories, and by no means the most unimpressive. The massive foundations of grey and unyielding stone had been assembled during the same ancient Golden Era of the Freljord, and had survived the long millennia since with good reason.

Once, or so the stories told by the midwives and old veterans told, the Winter’s Claw had owned Fort Frostwood. But that was many, long generations ago, before the tribe had been pushed into the frozen wastes of the north, made nomads by necessity rather than choice.

The descendents of Avarosa had claimed Fort Frostwood as their own in the centuries after, and with the resurgence of the Winter’s Claw under Sejuani, they staked their claim more clearly than ever.

The towering ramparts were diligently patrolled with archers and watchmen, ever on the lookout toward the northern front and passes for sign of Sejuani’s warriors and raiders. For sign of war. Not that it would matter.

Under the cover of the moonless night, Sejuani had led her troops quietly through the passes, evading detection until they reached the pine forest that now gave her men and women cover from the ever watchful Avarosan eyes along the fort.

Sejuani’s breath just barely formed a steam cloud in the crisp, early morning air as she surveyed their target through a brass telescope.

Fort Frostwood was at full capacity now, a small army of the Avarosan stationed there, the stables filled with the hardy ponies of Tryndamere’s peoples from the Valoran Steppes, and the armories no doubt filled with finest Avarosan bows. The many and largely successful raids of the Winter’s Claw this summer had put the newly united Avarosan-Frostguard alliance on high watch, and Fort Frostwood was the first line of true military defense, a supposed deterrent to Sejuani’s ambitions of war.

She scoffed under her breath. Always... _always_...did they underestimate her. They thought they could dissuade her by their numbers, just as they thought that her first strike for war would be directed against a village, a settlement. Today, she would prove Ashe wrong on both counts.

The telescope was lowered and stowed away, and Sejuani turned back to her small army.

The warriors were nervous. Even she could discern that, for all of their hardened appearances and stern brows shadowed beneath steel helms. Raids were one thing, yes, but they had always raided villages, towns, travelling supply chains and caravans. Never before had they launched so ambitious an assault, and on a military target of all things. Frostwood was purely a fort, its supplies brought in by horses and oxen, no houses or farms for leagues around. It held not peasants or town militia, but trained soldiers, archers and horsemen alike sheltered under the foothills of the Ironspikes.

This was a sharp departure from what her warriors had come to know, from the raids and open field skirmishes where they could pick their fights against the Avarosan. Here, it would battle. It would be siege.

For all that they lacked siege weaponry.

Still, if war was to be had, Sejuani would declare it boldly. She would not pick a meager target, no. They would take Frostwood by nightfall, and let the tale of their victories send a ringing shudder southward to the false queen. To Ashe

Today, the sun would rise on her destiny.

“We gonna get this started soon?”

Sejuani made a noncommittal noise at Olaf’s blunt question.

He pushed himself up from where he had been sprawled on the ground, cracking his neck once before grabbing an axe in either hand.

“Gettin’ older by the second, after all,” he mused.

Sejuani caught the corner of her lips twitching upward. “You think you’ll find your glorious death here?”

Olaf guffawed good naturedly at that, appreciating the dark humor. “Not here, no. But the sooner you get this war going, the sooner I can find someone actually worthy of sending me my way into the Freljord Beyond. More ale and mead than any man could ever drink, so they say, but I’ll be damned if I won’t try.”

“Well then,” Sejuani drawled. “I’d hate to be the one to keep you waiting. But if it is a fight we wish, and to take this keep, then we cannot be hasty.”

“Well then.” Olaf crossed his arms, now plainly curious. “And what strategy do you have for us?”

Sejuani gestured with one hand, and one of her stellari was there in an instant, hardy leather-skin map unfurled and splayed out on the ground. Sejuani crouched, Olaf on her left, her stellari on her right, and pointed with one gauntlet covered hand.

“Here. Fort Frostwood has walls too tall to be scaled, gates too thick to be broken without siege weaponry. The regiment at the fort is at least five hundred strong. Sizeable, yes, but if we go out on the plain in full force, they’ll just seal the gate and hold out until more of the army arrives to reinforce them. They’re won’t fight us on our terms. They’ll instead win at the waiting game.”

A long and pensive grumble came from Olaf. “So then how do we crush ‘em?”

Sejuani paused. She had a plan in mind, but the execution would have to be perfect. Should even the slightest timing be off, it would go awry.

Her finger pressed down on the forest that hid the bulk of their troops.

“We must lure the gates of Frostwood open, send out a battalion, no more than a hundred. The force stationed in the fort must be drawn out, believing they have the resources to defeat these warriors in single confrontation. Engage them. Then our second wave must rush out, a crescent pattern, and cut off their potential retreat into the fort.”

And then end it. Without the safety of their towering walls, the Avarosan soldiers would quickly be overwhelmed by the Winter’s Claw, and the doors to the fort would be wide open to greet the victors. Not that it was quite so simple in execution.

It all relied on the bait, and the follow up. There was no room for error...or they’d be stuck tented outside of the fort, a meaningless threat while the stationed troops simply waited for reinforcements from the south.

“Hmm…” Olaf stroked his beard, fingers lingering on the small gold beads that had been braided into the thick mass of red hair. Then he grinned. “Ambitious. I always liked that about you!”

Sejuani gave him a sharp, ivory smile back. “Fortune favors the bold, or so they say. The gods favor action, deeds. I will give it to them.”

She pointed with one finger toward the initial route she had outlined on the map. The route the hundred warriors who stood around them now would take.

“You want a challenge, Olaf? Then go with the first party. A hundred warriors, to bait them out, draw them from their fortress, but to stay alive until I lead the hammer strike. Can you do that?”

Olaf guffawed, as if a fine joke had been made, and then hefted both of his axes. “Thought you’d never ask!”

Sejuani nodded once, sharply, and then began to roll up the map, handing it off to her waiting stellari.

“When the morning sun clears past the lowest mountain peak to the south, begin your charge.”

No horns. No signals. Already the brilliant yellow top of the sun was rising over the lowest of Ironspikes. Half an hour at most until the charge would begin. There was no time to waste. Sejuani inclined her head one last time, and then took her leave, weaving her way further south through the forest. Her feet were just as silent and sure against the mixture of dead leaves and hoarfrost as on the iced plains she had grown up, belying her large, muscled frame. It did not take too long until she reached the main force.

Spearmen, axemen, men and women with a whole range of weaponry and talents, all eagerly awaiting the moment of battle that was to soon be upon them. Their eyes followed Sejuani as she took her place front and center of the vanguard...with the boar riders.

Bristle gave a low wuffling snort upon seeing her, one milky eye fixed upon hers as if to ask what had taken so long.

“Easy, Bristle,” she murmured, vaulting onto his massive back and the hard leather saddle with a practised ease.

Of all the frost boars, he was the most massive, the strongest, clearly in his prime. The other boars deferred and followed his lead, just as the warriors followed Sejuani.

She need only raise her hand, and what little, quiet talk there was died. The shuffling of feet grew still. She need only whisper, and yet her voice carried across the air.

“Be ready.”

There was not long to wait.

Even hidden within the trees, the sound of the warning bugles and bells could be clearly heard, echoing from the ramparts of Fort Frostwood, a response to the growing roar on the wind. Sejuani felt a smirk tug at her lips. She could almost pick out Olaf’s ferocious howl over it all, no doubt front and center of the vanguard.

Not just to wait for the right moment…

Sejuani’s eyes followed the ensuing battle carefully through the guard of the trees, watching as the great doors creaked open, as soldiers emerged on horseback and foot, archers sharp at their backs.

Too soon a charge, and they would waste their opportunity, remain locked outside of the fort like fools. But soon...

Her steel concentration was interrupted by murmuring behind her.

Half-annoyed, she barked back without even bothering to turn around. “We hold position.”

Her annoyance grew colder, taking a sharp edge when the voices did not immediately quiet. She jerked her head back, twisting. “What is…”

“Forgive me, Winter’s Wrath.” One of her stellari had the strength to speak, and Sejuani saw that beneath his iron helm, his face was pale. “But…”

He gestured up through the tree canopy, toward the northern skies.

They had been clear as the sun had dispelled the heavy night, bright and blue. Yet now dark, heavy gray clouds rolled in from the north, like an avalanche in the heavens themselves. A blizzard, though it was still not even yet winter.

Sejuani bit back a frown. There had been no sign of a storm when the sun had first risen this morning, least of all at their backs. A flicker of uncertainty rose in her stomach. It was not yet winter, but winter blizzards in the Freljord were as deadly as unpredictable. If they were caught in one…

Lissandra’s words seem to whisper in her ear.

_...I will guide you forward…_

“Hold.” Her voice was adamantine, brooking no room for argument, and her stellari fell silent. She could sense the continued fidgeting of warriors behind her back, but they stayed and held, trusting in her above all else. She would reward them for it.

They just had to hold. Just a little longer. Just as the troops continued to push against the meager force of Winter’s Claw men and women fighting valiantly below. Just…

A low, muffled boom—thundersnow—shuddered through the air at their back, and what little sun there was in the sky dimmed.

Sejuani hefted her flail, and her command was but a formality, for hooves and feet alike already began to surge forward.

“Now!”

As she left the dark cover of the pines, the first of the icy snowflakes landed on Sejuani’s nose.

The ground trembled, perhaps thundersnow, perhaps the weight of so many feet moving behind her. Blizzard, numbers...it mattered not.

The bugles changed in pitch and frequency, now an urgent cry for retreat as the host of the Winter’s Claw poured from the woods, intent on the garrison. Sejuani gritted her teeth. The Avarosan were staging a faster retreat than she anticipated of them, falling back toward their granite walls and iron-bound gate too quickly.

She leaned flatter on Bristle, urging him to use all the speed his great frame could provide, willing them faster, faster still, as fast if they were the very storm itself.

Almost as if in response to the thought, the clouds rolled overhead. The winds of the blizzard were at their back now, speeding their charge, keeping the great gated doors to the fort pushed open, slowing their closure. And all the while, Bristle strode faster and faster, until, surging downhill with the wind a howling gale pushing them onward.

The crescent strike closed the precious little space that was left, cutting of the safety of retreat with the thunderous collisions of bodies.

The air was a cacophony of the blizzard storm, punctuated by the screams of dying men, the crunch of bone and flesh underfoot, as the Winter’s Claw crushed the garrison of Fort Frostwood beneath their fury, and the last, frantic bugle call was finally silenced.

* * *

Ashe sat on her throne, Tryndamere to her right, both of them leaning forward in speechless disbelief.

The soldier nearly prostrated before them, too ashamed to look his rulers in the face as he retold the story of the battle that had lost them a key northern fort.

It was nearly unimaginable. Had Ashe been told of that such a thing would happen but a week ago, she would have dismissed it as hearsay. Fear-mongering.

“Our troops were wiped out.”

Silence.

Surely her ears were deceiving her.

“Impossible!” interjected Tryndamere. “We’d allocated an entire force in that holding. Even if the entire Winter’s Claw had launched the attack, they shouldn’t have—”

“I’m sorry, Majesties,” apologized the messenger, looking like he wanted nothing more than to melt into the floor tiles rather than deliver his fell news. “As we tried to retreat to the force, a great blizzard flooded down from the northern passes in the midst of the battle, at the backs of the Winter’s Claw. The soldiers were blinded on the field...and run down before then could make the fort. The gates were overrun...the few of us who survived barely managed to escape...”

Ashe waved one hand, and the unhappy man snapped his mouth shut at once.

“Rest now,” she commanded, trying to gentle her tone as much as she could. “You have done much in riding here to bring us such news from your own mouth.”

It was not, after all, the messengers fault for what message he bore.

Though it was ill tidings indeed.

Tryndamere stood first as the wearied and beaten soldier was guided from the receiving hall, and all eyes followed him nervously, awaiting what came next. “Cancel all meetings for the afternoon. Send for the Captain of the Citadel Guard and the commanders of the armies to meet with Ashe and I on the hour.”

It was an hour that seemed to crawl for the anxiety of waiting, followed then by a meeting that devoured the remainder of the morning and chewed away the afternoon. Reports, sightings, estimations of numbers, speculations of what might come next, of what they should do next, of what such an emboldened attack meant. And yet there was no clear path going forward.

They at last called an end to the deliberations before night fell, though there was little relief to be had from it. They were at an impasse, undecided, and were to reconvene on the morrow, after a night’s sleep was had.

Though restful sleep was still far, far off for Ashe.

The now-throbbing headache beneath her temples had grown to a wearily constant companion, one that she had already resigned herself to.

Tryndamere was off to tour the stables with one of his captains—no doubt ensuring the readiness of the horses on hand—and Ashe should have joined. She should be doing something more, she knew, even if Trynd had seen through the tight pain beneath her brow and recommended she rest for the evening.

Yet she couldn’t bring herself back to her chambers. Not when everyone else was in a flurry to move troops north, strengthen their front and prepare for what _might_ lay ahead.

She was Queen.

What right did she have to rest now of all times, when her people needed her the most?

Perhaps it was no surprise, then, that her in her pensive meandering through the halls of the Avarosan keep she suddenly found herself at the top of the tallest tower, hand already pushing open the ornate, engraved door that let outside.

A gust of cold, crisp air blew her hair and cloak back, the first touches of an early winter already breezing against her cheeks. Fall would be just a formality in name this year then. Perhaps that would give them time enough, then. Iced passes to stop Sejuani’s ambition, long nights to give Ashe time to ponder the best course of action for when the spring thaw arrived.

Yet her stomach still clenched, a chewing worry that such thoughts, logical though they were, presented only false hope.

Her gut had brought her here for a reason then, to the one person, the one creature, in the whole of her budding and precarious kingdom that she could readily confide in.

It was a special rooftop garden that she walked into, almost more of an enclave. Indeed, only the most trusted of her personal guard were even allowed to keep watch in this nearly sacred space.

The addition to the castle had only been fully finished but two years earlier, built in haste on Ashe’s orders. Yet for all of the rush of the renovation, the final results were beyond anything that had been made in centuries. A clear and bubbling fountain, hewn from pure, white marble, greeted Ashe when she first stepped on out of the door from the castle interior. Green, healthy trees and ferns—native plants and flowers from every last corner of the Freljord—lined the rooftop clearing. The floors and walls were veritable works of art, murals painstakingly pieced together from tiny chips of bright stones and glass, painting ancient stories of the Freljord into the very building.

It might not be Rakelstake or the glory of their forebears from the Golden Era, but it was the work of the finest architects and craftsmen the land had to offer, and just one of the many tiny steps going forward in creating a new Freljord, one just as respected and cultured and mighty as any of their neighboring kingdoms. One that she hoped would bring them back to their own new golden age.

Besides, Ashe would have nothing but the finest for the guest that the rooftop had been designed to house.

The Cryophoenix rested easily atop her nest of marble and true ice, silent and unmoving as usual, her red eyes looking ever toward the north and the Ironspike Mountains. That was where her true home lay. On the highest spire of the eternally snowcapped mountain range, so did Anivia, the incarnation of the Freljord, reside.

Or she had. Until several years ago, when Anivia had descended from the mountains, appearing here in the capital of the Avarosan, seeking counsel with Ashe. It had been Anivia’s own choice to to ally with Ashe, her steadfast belief that Ashe could truly unite the Freljord, that had spurned Ashe to more action, to treat with Tryndamere and Princess Lissandra alike...and even with Sejuani herself, though that attempt had proven futile.

It had been Anivia who had imparted the importance of _why_ unity was so critical, of why after all the millennia, the spirit of the Freljord saw great enough urgency to leave her home and seek out a mortal ruler.

Dark Days. Corruption. Some sort of perversion of the true ice and heart of the very Freljord.

Even now, years after Anivia had first spoken to her of the encroaching and nameless danger, Ashe was no closer to understanding just who, or exactly what, this danger was, or from whence it would strike.

But she did know that only as a united land could they hope to combat the darkness when it finally revealed itself.

“Ashe...I had wondered when I would see you next.”

Ashe bowed her head, feeling something in her finally relax and ease a bit. There were scant few whom she could just be ‘Ashe’ around...not Queen. Tryndamere was one of them. Anivia was another.

She took a seat in one of the attending chairs by the nest.

“Forgive me, Anivia, I’ve—”

“Been busy, yes.” Anivia’s voice was not chastising, though. There was only understanding, and Ashe found herself nodding back silently, guilt dissipating before it had even fully formed.

Even so, even with the constant headache of running—of attempting to run—a semblance of a kingdom, she had unduly neglected visiting the being that was the very incarnation of the land.

“Still, I apologize. Things have been...difficult.”

Anivia preened one of her strange, eternal true ice feathers, then fixed Ashe with one of her eyes. “I still know little of humans and their politics and doings, but uniting a land ten-thousand years divided is no task to be accomplished in a day, Ashe. You have accomplished much already, have you not?”

More than any since the fall of the Watchers, according to history. Two of the three greater tribes now peacefully united. In the months after the alliance, Ashe had gotten wind of the rumors and whispers no different than any other, had not missed the way the spirits of the soldiers and citizens alike seemed caught on a high wind, swelling with hope and promise. More than ever, they had called her ‘Chosen’, and when they looked at her, their eyes shined with the quiet belief that she would be the one to unite them all.

Yet Ashe was no fool. She knew, how she knew, the fragility of so new an alliance. And Sejuani’s aggression now endangered that unsteady foundation more than ever.

“Sejuani…” she began, and her gaze fell to the tiled floor, and she shook her head without even meaning to.

“Sejuani?” Anivia continued to prompt her gently.

Ashe felt some of her impotent frustration fall into her voice.

“The alliance was supposed to stop this. My political marriage to Tryndamere, Princess Lissandra’s merging of the Frostguard into the the Avarosan tribe...it was supposed to quell Sejuani. Yet the more I try reason with her, the wider the divide grows between us. I…” For a moment, a familiar ache grew beneath her breast, like the sudden burning of an overly acidic meal, and her voice choked on it. “I fear know not who she is anymore, Anivia. Or...perhaps I never did.”

She didn’t know which was more alarming, only that it was the reality of the present. Universally polarized. And she knew not what to do. So instead she looked down, trying to calm her suddenly short breath, ease the pain in chest, focus, focus...

“The North is stirring,” spoke Anivia.

It was always stirring, like an angry hornet’s nest, ever since Sejuani had ascended to power, though it was hardly worth quibbling over.

“More than usual.” Ashe felt her brow crinkle in anxiety, wondered if the lines of worry and concern would soon permanently paint themselves onto her face for all that she was not yet even thirty. Her breath was tight in her lungs and throat as she gazed northward, and cold sweat wetted her palms. “I fear war begins, Anivia. I cannot stop it, not while Sejuani wills it.”

“Then you must finish it!”

Ashe started, taken aback by the rare vehemence in Anivia’s voice. Her wings spread to full width before snapping closed, and her shuffled in her nest. When she spoke again, her voice was more subdued, but no less certain.

“You must finish this, Ashe. Even as the Winter’s Claw stirs to life for this mortal war, so too do dark forces stir beyond sight.” Anivia, too, looked toward the North. “The blizzard of three days ago to the north, near the Ironspikes...it was not natural.”

 _That_ gave Ashe pause. Whatever she had been about to say stilled and died on her tongue. The same blizzard that struck out of the Ironspikes and caught her soldiers at Fort Frostwood so unaware. What did Anivia mean? An unfortunate turn of circumstances, yes, but late summer blizzards, early touches of winter...they were not unheard of events.

“The dark cold is moving, though it has not yet shown its hand. That was no mere storm, Avarosa’s Chosen. It was conjured by the will of another, called into existence for that exact time and place.”

Ashe shifted in her seat, tense. “What do you mean?”

What force was using the guise of the Winter’s Claw aggression as cover for more fell and disastrous deeds? Childhood tales of banshees, of the Ice Witch—nameless fell spectre that prowled the nighttime snow-blasted plains looking for souls—suddenly shivered down Ashe’s neck. Years ago she would have dismissed such stories as fables. Now with Anivia’s counsel they gave her pause. Just what unseen thing was it that they faced?  

“I am sorry I cannot offer more aid to your cause,” apologized Anivia, dipping her beak downward. “My memories from past lives do not hold through. I know not from where or whom this threat comes from, only that it grows by the day, and to unite in order to face it is imperative to the future of the Freljord. The future of everything.”

“Please, Anivia, you have already done so much.” Ashe waved her down, suddenly feeling guilty for pressing the issue.

Still, an unknown enemy, possibly waiting to strike from behind the chaotic guise of civil war, was something that any last hint could prove crucial over. Ashe had to remind herself that were it not for Anivia herself, Ashe would still remain all the more ignorant that was anything larger at work beyond the ‘simple’ concerns of mortal rule and government. Now she had Anivia by her side, the Frostguard allied with her, and Princess Lissandra just as eager to aid in the unification of the Freljord. That was something, surely? So then why did everything feel more uncertain and fragile than ever before?

“Ashe…”

The Cryophoenix flapped her great wings once, twice, then resettled into her makeshift nest. Her red eyes showed nothing of what emotions the eternal guardian of the Freljord might feel, but the slow, solitary shake of her head brought no comfort to Ashe, nor did the words that followed.

“My time is growing close, Ashe. I had hoped, but...I can no longer deny it. My days left in this lifetime are now numbered.”

Her echoing voice, usually so strong and clear-sighted, was weak, tired. Enfeebled. Ashe tried not to think of how Anivia’s glacial blue form had long since been edging toward a hard, colorless white, like old ice ready to fracture apart.

She did not need to say anything, for Anivia knew. How she always seemed to read Ashe better than even Ashe could read herself.

“Life. Death. Rebirth. Such things were never truly within anyone’s control. It is simply my time. Continue to have faith, Avarosa’s Chosen. I will yet remain with you still.”

But for how much longer?

How much longer?

* * *

The mead hall was loud, boisterous with activity and celebration both within the timber rafters and around the myriad of bonfires that had been set outside. It was a banquet that Sejuani willingly took part in and opened the grain stores for. The warriors had good cause for merriment, and she had no doubt the contingent she had left to handle Fort Frostwood was celebrating in similar manner.

Sejuani slouched against the back of her carven chair, one booted leg tossed carelessly over the arm of the throne. It was a pose of reckless ease, yet still tightly composed compared to the raw celebration of the mead hall before her.

No wine skin rested in her lap, no. Tonight she drank instead from an ornate pewter goblet, one of many taken from their spoils of Frostwood. She touched her lips to the rim of the metal, letting the mead wash back against her tongue, sweet and powerful...and not quite the same as from a skin, and yet for once Sejuani did not mind. The mead tasted of victory, more heady and addictive than any liquor, and she savored it.

She smiled, lips pressed together. It was not the fierce, toothy grin she had worn when they raised their crossed axe banner over Frostwood, but one of quiet, almost secretive pleasure. It was as though the proverbial veil of doubt that had plagued her over the summer months had at last been lifted from her eyes.

She had, perhaps, stumbled, but now she was more certain that ever of her road going forward. It burned beneath her breast and through her veins, the same fire of sure, self-made purpose that had guided her steps through the all the battle circles and training camps, from child to now hardened warrior and reigning warlord.

In her mind’s eye, she gave a silent toast to Iceborn Lissandra. Sejuani would need to visit her secretive “oracle” again soon, before they moved into full war and her attention and time as warlord was pulled fully toward the south.

With one of the Iceborn—with the _only_ remaining Iceborn—at her side, with fate at her back, Sejuani felt a growing sense of certainty that her destiny could and would be fulfilled. No matter the Frostguard or the Avarosan...a new age was growing on the horizon, and Sejuani would do all in her power to herald it in. She would prove, once and for all, the truth to Ashe. To the world.

“Quite the victory you’ve managed to snatch out of the jaws of adversity.”

Udyr’s voice forever held the low rumble of a bear behind it, the growl of a tiger, as if the very animal spirits with which he communed were bound to his form even when he remained human.

Sejuani offered a sweeping, open-palmed gesture. “Since when have our victories ever not been taken from adversity? No easy gifts have ever been offered to the Winter’s Claw. But that is what makes us stronger.”

Udyr nodded. He knew of the trials of adversity, the spirit walker.

“It means war.”

“Indeed.”

Udyr’s lips tugged upward in brief amusement. “Exactly what you’ve wanted, then.”

Sejuani brought her leg down from the arm of her chair, sitting more properly, though she still rested her chin on one fist.

“A time for action, yes. We have been complacent too long. Now is the time for us to strike, to use our strength and to grow only stronger. To take the Freljord.”

“So you plan. But what of winter? You cannot fight the seasons, and it seems as though it is falling fast this year, if such a blizzard did so fortuitously strike during your battle. An earlier onset of winter will mean the icing of the passes sooner than expected. There is little time left in the raiding season.”

Sejuani smiled further. “Yet you said it yourself, Udyr. We are done with raiding. We mean war.”

His brow furrowed, already processing the full implication of her words. “Then you mean to…”

Sejuani stood, and before she even opened her mouth to speak from her dais, the mead hall had grown quiet, every last pair of eyes trained on her, attentive and eager.

“There is no rest for our campaign. Winter is in our name. Cold is our weapon. Frost and ice in our very blood. For countless generations we have lived in the harshest plains of the north, while the Avarosan grew weak and soft in the warmth of the south.” She stood, slowly walking down from her chair and toward the bonfire, toward the wide and long tables of the mead hall. All were silent as they watched her. “In summer we raided, yet in winter we bowed our heads and remained frozen in our tents and longhouses, awaiting the long thaw of spring while the Avarosan took refuge and rest from us. But now...we raid no more.”

She paused, and drew a deep breath.

“Now, we go to war. Winter will be our ally. The blizzards and ice storms and frost alike give us both cover and reinforcement. No longer will the Avarosan find solace in the dark of winter, for we will not rest. We will sweep the south, then east to claim Rakelstake. We will take the Freljord, raise a single banner across our ancestral lands. Our strength will rule above all!”

She ended with fist held high, rafters trembling for the roar of hundreds of voices that shook the stone foundations.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> War begins, Sejuani leading the bloodied path forward with the encouragement of her newest advisor--Lissandra. The Iceborn gives Sejuani not only the gift of knowledge, but of something else...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woooo! Chapter 3! Things should start heating up a bit more from here since I have a fair bit of my plot devices now in place. A huge thank you to all of the support for this story so far. I honestly never thought I'd have anywhere near this many kudos or comments and it's tremendously humbling and incredibly motivational. So here's a big thank you to you for reading and supporting me :)
> 
> I hope you continue to read--and as always, let me know your thoughts!

Ashe looked north toward the Ironspikes, toward the dark ring of heavy gray clouds that obscured their distant, white spires today.

Snow clouds, heavier and earlier than in all the prior years that Ashe could recall.

A frown worried at her lips, though it took only a moment of concentration to school it away. Already the bulk of their troops not stationed by the city had received messages by crow, orders to move north and fortify their defenses. They could call it what they would, but only the foolish refused to acknowledge the reality of war that now encroached upon them, and Ashe was far from foolish.

Still, Ashe wondered if perhaps she had not grown overly pessimistic somewhere along the line. She was taking all necessary steps that any prudent ruler _should_ , after all. Those troops stationed at the northernmost checkpoints of Avarosan territory were alert and watchful, would not be so unwittingly caught off guard as Fort Frostwood was. The fastest of crows had been sent to Princess Lissandra in Rakelstake an eight-day earlier, and now they merely waited on the return missive, hopefully with a sizeable contingent of Frostguard soldiers not far behind.

And today, the sun bright and streaming overhead, she and Tryndamere would see off one of their main reserve armies from the capital, extra reinforcements for the northern borders. Powers willing it would be enough. At least until they had time to better consult with Princess Lissandra.

“Are you ready?”

Ashe turned toward Tryndamere, to where he stood politely waiting at the door that led from her anteroom to the hallway. He was dressed in full silks and rich velvets today, no different than Ashe, an odd picture of proper king compared to the bits of armor and furs that he usually preferred to don. Still, he had learned to bear the public image of being a king with surprising ease, for all that Ashe knew of his personal distaste for it.

One last glance in the silver gilded mirror confirmed that every last hair on her head was in place, gems and earrings winking to polished perfection. Ashe looked like royalty, precisely as she knew her people expected her to for the parade that would see off their troops.

“It is almost time, yes. Let’s go then.”

They walked in measured steps from Ashe’s chambers down the hallway, two of the royal guard following respectfully on their heels. It was only once they were nearly at the heavy wood doors that led out to the viewing balcony that Ashe stopped.

Tryndamere followed suit, raising one eyebrow in silent question.

“We should link arms,” Ashe explained.

For all that they slept in separate chambers, that their marriage was one of political alliance only, they had to represent what was expected for their people. They had to be the face of the united Avarosan-Frostguard-Barbarian alliance. For the Freljord, and for all of the toil Ashe had and would continue to put forth toward seeing their land at true peace, no matter what Sejuani’s reckless ambitions were.

So Ashe wrapped her arm delicately around Tryndamere’s, and it was only then that they stepped through the doorway and out onto the public balcony.

Immediately, a roaring salute echoed up through the streets, not just from the disciplined lines of troops, but from the throng of citizens. Flower petals were cast into the air, reds and blues, yellows and whites...the last of what remained of summer.

Ashe whispered under her breath, audible only to Tryndamere. “Three, two, one…”

In unison, they both raised their spare hands, waving to the troops and the people of Avarosa. The cheering rose in pitch, and then, with a last salute to them, the commander of the small army turned on horseback and began to lead the soldiers from the royal castle toward the city gates, toward the main road that would take them due north.

The day was clear and sunny. Their troops were more than numerous.

Yet as they marched away from the stronghold of Avarosa, it was through teeth gritted into a well-perfected smile that Ashe fought the knots of anxiety buried deep in the pit of her stomach, thinking of only one person—one woman—in the whole of the Freljord.

* * *

 

The small wayside house in the wastelands of the far north was not quite the same as Sejuani remembered it.

Gone was thick layer of dust across the floors and tables and stone fireplace. Now the room gleamed, light from dozens of small candles reflecting across the polished granite surfaces.

The cold, even inside, was as leaching as ever, and Sejuani had to repress a shiver beneath her furs and armor.

Lissandra stood still, towering over Sejuani atop her base of strange black ice crystals.

“So you return again, Sejuani. Has the taste of victory now whetted your appetite at last?”

Sejuani pressed one closed fist over her own breast and bowed. “Iceborn, it will begin, exactly as you foretold. The very Freljord is on our side. When I return to my people, the Winter’s Claw will begin the march south. Every last able-bodied warrior, man and woman, will spearhead the push into the Avarosan territory.”

“You have done well, Winter’s Wrath, though your fury must only yet start to burn. You must not give pause before you enemy any further.”

Sejuani tilted her chin up, teeth grinding at the inadvertent insult. She had given pause before, it was true, but she had found her purpose again. No more would her thoughts put leash to her actions, to what was necessary going forward.

They were dauntless, she and her warriors.

And they were not so stupid as what their enemies presumed either.

“We do not fear the Avarosans. They are weak. Complacent.” Sejuani paused, though, taking breath before continuing. She was not afraid, no, but nor was she foolhardy; strategy was still as crucial as ever. “However, depending on how quickly Ashe may send summons to the Frostguard, and how quickly Princess Lissandra responds, my warriors could risk being flanked as we proceed southward and deeper into Avarosan territory…”

She trailed off, letting the implications speak for themselves even as her mind roved over the possibilities.

Truthfully, she knew little of the Frostguard. The Ironspikes were a physical barrier between the guardians of the history and the nomadic Winter’s Claw, with but a scant few and treacherous passes that navigated through the mountains to connect Rakelstake to the northern tundra of Sejuani’s people.

The Frostguard had never been a presence nor even a concern in Sejuani’s lifetime, hermits to their ancient capital of the Freljord. Even now, it was Ashe and Tryndamere who remained the greatest of concerns in Sejuani’s ambitions. Yet even an army of book-keepers could pose threat to Sejuani if they struck at just the right moment.

“The Frostguard will pose no barrier in your campaign to conquer.”

Sejuani looked up sharply, but held her tongue’s first response, for she sensed Lissandra would say more.

“Not all is always as it seems, my diademed conqueror. The Frostguard remain true to my legacy.”

“Then, what alliance…?”

“The Frostguard owe allegiance to _Lissandra_.”

Of course they owed allegiance to Princess Lissandra…

The puzzle abruptly clicked into place. For if Lissandra could disguise herself as an old, gnarled oracle, who was to say she could not use such illusions to present a different guise as well?

“You will take the whole of the Freljord before the Snowdown—Winter’s Longest Night. And when you finally march on Rakelstake, the ancient seat of power of the Freljord, the great gates to the City of Stone and Ice will be thrown open to welcome their new ruler.”

Sejuani swallowed. Lissandra’s voice spoke in terms of absolute certainty, leaving no room for doubt of such ambitious claims, of claims that after years and years of preparation, Sejuani would fulfill her destiny in a matter of mere months. No small feat, particularly once the heavy snows began to fall and slow the progress of her men and women across the land.

Not that she would openly admit such.

“Ashe and Tryndamere are doubling troops in the north. Their border grows more pointed than ever before. They know we are coming.”

“Indeed,” murmured Lissandra, and her voice echoed on the stone. “Already, Avarosa’s Chosen fears your potential assault. She sends reinforcements northward, hoping both numbers and the encroaching winter will dissuade you from their lands.”

Sejuani’s lips pulled back in a silent snarl.

“They think us so fearful?”

“They hope and pray, for fear begins to eat at them. Fear of what power you possess and what strength you wield, greater than them for all of their numbers and precious alliances.”

Of course they feared. They had reason now, even if they had only just felt the first bite of the Winter’s Claw in their flesh.

“If Ashe thinks I will be so easily dissuaded _now_ of all times…”

The familiar, burning heat roared to life in Sejuani’s chest, hot anger. But it was no good here and now. How she longed for Ashe to meet her on the battlefield, to bow head and knee alike before Sejuani, and acknowledge once and for all the true winner between them.

Lissandra was suddenly closer, separated by a mere step. “You know how Avarosa’s Chosen plays, how she dallies with words and gestures to buy time. If you hold yourself back, if you wait now, then the front she and her barbarian king present to you later…”

Her words trailed off, and Sejuani was well aware of the implications. For all of Ashe’s apparent distaste of war, Sejuani could not deny that given time and organization, the Avarosans could very much mount a strong counter attack, could slow Sejuani’s plans into a slow war of attrition. And it would be there that Ashe’s numbers would win out.

More than ever, Sejuani needed to act. Lissandra spoke the very words that lingered in Sejuani’s own mind.

“You must lead the vanguard, be the hammer that strikes, unforgiving, unrelenting, onto Ashe’s troops. Give them neither the time nor the mercy to reorganize. Strike again, and again, and bleed them dry. They may call Ashe “Chosen”, but they forget that there were Three Sisters, not one.”

Slowly, Sejuani nodded, bowing her head to her guiding oracle and mentor. Lissandra spoke the truth, the certainty of both past and future. It did, however, call to mind another question .

“When I head south, I will not be able to soon return to you, Iceborn.” This would then be the last of their meetings until Sejuani could prove herself and her destiny.

“Your fate calls, Serylda’s Scion, but I will not leave you for another decade as before. Not now that you are ready. I will find you you again. Soon.”

Would she take the guise of an oracle? When would she ‘appear’? “Lissandra, I need only give word and my people would the finest of travel accommodations for you—”

“No.” Lissandra cut her off with a word, tone brooking no room for argument. “You have done well in telling no one of me. It is as I asked of you, and it is best to keep that way.”

“But…” No one? What was the sense in keeping a legend such as Iceborn Lissandra a secret?

Yet again, uncannily, Lissandra seemed to read her thoughts.

“Now is not the opportune moment. Not yet. I am only just recovering my strength, and there is more afoot than simple war amongst tribes. You know of this.”

Sejuani thought of the visions Volibear spoke of, of the Ice Witch that Udyr sought to destroy. Tales of encroaching darkness.

“I cannot so soon reveal myself. It is only for you, my destined warrior, that I yet show my true form to.”

That earned a nod, reluctant though Sejuani was. What a boon it would be against the Avarosans, against the _Chosen_ , Ashe, to publicly boast that the last of the Iceborn was at Sejuani’s side.

“Though I cannot yet show myself, I _can_ provide you with somewhat more.”

“More?” She had her troops and her weapons, had the reassurance that the Frostguard would play no role in the war she was about to begin with Ashe. What else could Lissandra do if she could not yet reveal herself?

“Kneel.”

It was not a question, and Sejuani hesitated on principle. She was no new warrior, wet behind the ears. She was the warlord of the Winter’s Claw, the prophesied conqueror of the Freljord, and she took orders from no one.

Lissandra smiled, as if knowing precisely what conflict internally played across Sejuani’s mind. One hand reached out, gently cupping Sejuani’s cheek, and Sejuani froze as a cold thumb rubbed across the prominent scar on her cheekbone.

“You are strong, Serylda’s Scion...how strong and proud you are. And yet you can be stronger still. Let me guide you to your true power. Kneel before me now, and become who you were meant to be.”

Slowly, so very slowly, Sejuani dropped both knees to the floor, jaw clenched and gaze never leaving Lissandra’s half-masked face the entire time. 

Lissandra’s smile only grew further, pleased. Her hand moved down, fingers first softly playing across the hard steel of Sejuani’s breastplate before her palm pressed down.

Sejuani waited a long moment until she was no longer able to hold her tongue for impatience and curiosity. “Just wh—”

Her teeth clamped down hard, and Sejuani jerked away, or tried to. She was frozen in place, paralyzed, as _something_ spread from Lissandra’s hand across her chest, robbing her of breath and voice alike. It was cold, colder than the darkest of winter nights, drowning her as it reached her fingertips and toes, drowning her in the blackness, spiralling deeper, deeper...

She stumbled and nearly fell backward when Lissandra at last pulled her hand away. She, the Winter’s Wrath, _stumbled_ , breath finally coming in suddenly shallow gasps. The sensations gradually receded, leaving a strange tingling across her skin in its wake.

Her chest felt cold still, blood only sluggishly beginning to push back the strange chill centered within her sternum.

“Wha..” She had to pause, straighten, take the moment to wet her uncertain lips with her tongue. “What was that?”

Lissandra’s lips curled upward, thin but pleased. “You are not Iceborn, but the touch of the Ice still whispers in your blood. Dilute, but it is enough.”

Sejuani flexed her hand, staring down at her leather-covered palm. She did not feel any different. And yet…

The fist she made creaked and cracked against the soft and worn leather, tendons popping beneath skin and armor. She was strong, yes. She had always been strong. But now…

She didn’t need to say it, no. Even with blind eyes covered, Lissandra’s invisible gaze seemed to pierce through her, knowing.

“Go forth and rend with the claws of winter. Let the power you were born into bloom. Fight, and win. Conquer.”

* * *

 

The mead hall was the emptiest it had been since Sejuani’s childhood, but this time not for plague nor famine nor desertion.

Indeed, almost all of the stables and barracks had been emptied, but for the very reasons that Sejuani had long since promised her people.

For too many millennia had the Freljord been locked in stasis, in a schism, broken and unchanging. She would be the harbinger of change, herald to a new, greater era for the people of Freljord. An era united under a single banner, one that the whole of Valoran would come to know and respect.

The new golden age of the Freljord awaited them. It was but time to seize it.

Soon, Sejuani and her remaining warriors would join the bulk of their troops south of Fort Frostwood.

The war awaited them.

There were but a few final preparations to be made, which only her closest advisors and stellari need be in attendance for.

The map of the Freljord was spread across the well-worn wood of one of the mead tables—a war map, it would trace the path of their conquest across the land, first south, and then ultimately back northward and east, finishing at Rakelstake. One step, however, at a time.

“We must attack, hard, fast, and without mercy or relent,” repeated Sejuani, no differently than as she had discussed with Lissandra days earlier. “There will be no time to fortify what settlements and towns we take on our warpath. This will be a lightning campaign, with winter upon our heels. We will aim to take the city of Avarosa in one to two months time.”

Her finger tapped over the black circle on the map that represented Ashe’s stronghold. Take the city, and gods willing Ashe with it. If not, then they would meet at the end of things in Rakelstake. It ultimately mattered little. Sejuani would see the same result, and so would Ashe.

“Fast is right,” murmured Olaf, scratching absentmindedly at his beard.

“You think reinforcements from the Frostguard will not slow your assault?” questioned Volibear.

Sejuani scoffed. “I think, as usual, the Avarosan underestimate our resolve. The Frostguard will be slow in giving aid from their mountain fortress, if any comes at all. And the Avarosan...they will not be able to react quickly enough to us, they will not be able to stop our force once we begin to move, not with fear nipping at their heels, not with the winds of winter blasting their sight. Of this I am sure.”

Still she waited. If there was dissent, it needed to voiced now.

Her two stellari present both nodded, deferring to her wisdom. She had brought them this far; they believed in her risks and gambits, for she had yet to lead them astray, to place any of them in danger that she would not willingly face herself.

Rather, she waited on the opinion of the other three before her.

Olaf shrugged. He was no tactician or strategist, and as long as he saw battle, he would be happy.

Volibear’s black nose flared, inhaling deeply as he studied the map. After a long moment, he waved a paw. “I trust in your plans, Sejuani. You are not warlord without reason. Your goals are ambitious, but I believe that if any may achieve them, it will be you.”

She nodded at the vote of confidence, then turned last to Udyr, the voice of the spirits.

“I wish you best in your conquest, Winter’s Wrath. You have waited long enough for this battle—I know that you are ready for it.”

Sejuani stopped, looking up hard at the implications of his words. “You will not be coming south with us?”

Udyr hummed, low and pensive, and Sejuani let her friend and advisor take his time, for she knew the Spirit Walker did nothing without reason.

“South, perhaps, but I cannot travel with you, not on your war campaign, no. Mischief is afoot, my gut tells me the Ice Witch is beginning to emerge from her shadows, preparing her hand against us. I am nothing if not one to listen to my gut, and it tells me to search out for more answers. If the Ice Witch is truly on the move, then perhaps I will catch her out.”

As he spoke, his voice dropped into a growl, the air around him shimmered orange, and the nails on his hands seemed to become almost great claws.

Sejuani nodded, nonplussed. Her war had never been Udyr’s war, and she had always known he was likely to leave her at some point, to search out his true enemy. Fates willing she could join him in that second war by Snowdown.

“Then I wish you well on your hunt, friend. The Winter’s Claw is always open to the Spirit Walker, should you need anything of us.” It did, however, beg another sort of question. Sejuani turned to face Volibear and Olaf. “And what of both of you? Will you be joining me or going separate ways?”

She expected Olaf’s whole-hearted declaration to not miss a second of the campaign; he was, after all, on the quest for a worthy death in battle. Where better to find that than in open warfare?

Volibear, however, was her concern. He was her oldest friend, her truest advisor, had come to her first those years ago. He had been the first outsider to believe in the strength Sejuani sought to cultivate in her people. Yet she had never forgotten his purpose either, and his aims had always stood more in line with Udyr’s, for all that Volibear had never shied from the human conflict Sejuani sought.

If he left now, she could not bring herself to blame him, but she would miss his presence, perhaps more than she cared to admit. What thoughts went on behind his black eyes were a mystery to her, though.

Finally, he spoke. “I do not believe the storm wishes me to leave your side yet, Sejuani, not while the darkness yet grows. I will see the Spirit Walker off, for I believe his path holds great cause, and then I shall  rejoin you in the south as soon as I am able.”

Sejuani nodded slowly. This was fair. Then she grinned. “Hopefully we’ll have given you a far distance to run and catch up to us by the time you head southward.”

“Ha!” His laughter was a like a thunderclap. “Of that I have little doubt. Show them your fury, and harden yourself for the greater war that is to come, if the storm visions tell the truth. I will join you when I can.”

His sharp, ivory teeth poked out from his dark gum line in a fierce grimace that was an Ursine smile.

“And do not forget to leave some for me!”

* * *

 

The long march south was faster than even Sejuani expected, accompanied only by the fall of gentle snow flurries. It was with no small sense of pride that Sejuani noted how their numbers had swollen so much. A mere score of years earlier, when Sejuani was not even yet a full warrior, the Winter’s Claw had been on the verge of outright collapse, their numbers in the mead hall limited to mere hundreds. But since her ascendance to warlord, since she had steered the tribe back onto the proper course of enduring strength and glory, not only had their lands and riches grown, but so too had the people who swore to her banner.

From across the frozen north, the roaming nomads of Serylda had reunited, and not a single lesser tribe remained independent of the Winter’s Claw. All had long since vowed loyalty to the twin axes, even many of the northernmost Avarosan—their heritage oft mixed between Avarosa and Serylda alike—had listened to the stronger calling in their blood, had dropped ploughs and pitchforks in favor of axes and swords, of the truth of Sejuani’s actions over Ashe’s words.

Now their numbers swelled well into the many thousands, all heeding Sejuani’s summons to war.

To destiny.

The scout intel was not bad. As expected, reinforcements had moved north from the heartlands of Avarosan territory, with word of even more on the way from Ashe’s capital city. A sizeable army, yes, but one that would be forced to spread thinner than what they were used to, particularly if Sejuani struck fast, and hard.

Today the war would officially start. No compromise, so diplomacy. No rest until Sejuani took her rightful place on the eons-old throne of power in Rakelstake itself, and Ashe submitted before her once and for all.

Only then would it be over.

Until then, there was much work to be accomplished—mainly in blood—and it started here.

‘Here’ was a true town, larger and more build up than dirt-laden agricultural settlements they had raided in past summers. No cluster of huts and tilled earth, but well-laid cobblestone roads and granite market buildings...even a small wooden wall surrounding the whole of the town, pathetic and impotent though it would prove.

The name of the town escaped Sejuani even now, though it mattered little. None would remember the name of the cluster of buildings—they would remember only what it heralded: the beginning of Avarosa’s end, and the start of the new age.

The division of Ashe and Tryndamere’s army that was holed up here was a mass of black dots behind the the wooden spikes and panels, tightly knit before the amassed horde that was the Winter’s Claw.

For once, Sejuani had the strength in numbers, and she intended to use it well.

It did not take long to make her way to the frontline, riders already in place for the charge, and waiting on her orders.

She smirked at the growing roar of the Winter’s Claw battle cry that grew behind her, rising, rising in pitch and volume until the very air shook and trembled...until she dug her heels into Bristle’s sides, and then the earth trembled instead for the thousands of feet and hooves that thundered across it.

She did not expect the Avarosans soldiers to flee this time, and she was not disappointed. They held their line, archers firing from behind the safety of the foot soldiers...until the charge finally struck.

The poor excuse for a wooden wall shattered into splinters, boar riders barreling through it with all the ease as though it were but twigs in the underbrush. Then the true battle began.

The groan of iron against iron, the screams of dying men and horses alike, the crunch of bodies breaking before her might...it was a music she had been born to, an instrument that she tuned to perfection.

A destiny written in the stars and the ice alike.

And Sejuani embraced it.

It did not take long to shear through the first wave of the Avarosans, to push and trap them further back into the township, at which point she was forced to pause.

Bristle was a potent force in his own right, but in the narrow, building-crowded streets of the town, he lacked maneuverability, and Sejuani was not about to be perceived as cowering behind their vanguard.

She dismounted in one easy, fluid motion, boots striking the the bloodied cobblestone forcefully. Her hand re-hefted her flail, and she patted Bristle with her off-hand.

“Easy, you’ve had your fun, Bristle. Now it’s my turn.”

Her stellari had already barked out orders, splitting the force into columns for each road. Already Olaf was eagerly drawing fighters down a road on Sejuani’s left. The yells as they clashed with Avarosans brought a grim smile to her face.

“Let’s not be left out,” she announced, and took the lead toward the central market of the town, men and women streaming at her sides.

Spears, shield, swords...they were pointless before the practised motions of her flail, slicing through wood, leather, and flesh with lethal efficiency. Still, the Avarosans, even forced back, did not break and retreat.

Odd, though they were experienced troops.

Only when Sejuani gritted her teeth and pushed even further forward from the bulk of her warriors did it make sense.

Yells and battle cries, uttered in a foreign tongue from the Valoran Steppes, rang through the air, and soldiers stormed out from the surrounding buildings, their pincered focus clearly on Sejuani.

The few warriors who had kept pace with her assault brought their weapons up in a defensive fury, and Sejuani whipped her true ice tipped weapon around in a deadly arc, mowing down the bulk of would-be attackers.

But not all of them.

One lone man ducked through, screaming as he engaged her, eager for her blood.

Who knew what price was posted for her head? What glory this barbarian idiot thought he might gain if he—by some miracle—managed to actually strike down the Winter’s Wrath herself? The thought made her chuckle.

He, like his rulers, was fueled by desperation. Sejuani was driven by something greater.

A quick swipe of her flail and she had disarmed the soldier. He stumbled back, but there was no time. Sejuani didn’t even pause to think. Her left hand lashed out, fingers finding purchase on the would-be challenger’s throat. Sejuani was no small woman, but nor was this any small Avarosan soldier.

Her muscles squeezed, and ice ran through her veins. Using but one arm, she lifted him by throat, with all the ease as though it were a doll clenched between her fingers, and not the weight of a fully grown and armored warrior.

He scrabbled now, helplessly wrapping his hands around her arm and bracer.

His voice, when it came this time, was strangled and desperate, his eyes wide with fear.

“M-mercy…” He garbled out the request.

Sejuani’s brow drew down, and her vision grew dark at the edges.

“Mercy?”

In one fluid motion, she dropped her flail and drew the sharpest of daggers from her belt, slamming the gleaming tip of metal into the weak spot where the plates of his armor separated below his armpit. Only once it was hilt deep did she finally pull the dagger free with a thickly wet squelch.

Her fingers squeezed tighter still, and her arm reverberated as the cartilage of the soldier’s throat shattered beneath her palm. Only then did she toss him down and away, broken and dead.

“That is the mercy that the Winter’s Claw gives to those who would oppose us. Give my regards to the ancestors in the Freljord Beyond.”

A roaring cry went up as Sejuani strode forward, unconcerned with the attempt on her life. The ranks swelled around her, an adrenaline fueled bloodrage hastened by the example of their leader.

What few lines of disciplined Avarosans were left in the streets broke ranks and turned to flee—a hopeless action, as they were only run down by the Winter’s Claw.

Sejuani watched, face unfeeling and eyes hard.

And all the while, though her right hand held its steady grip on her flail again, her left hand flexed and formed a fist, relaxing only to flex again.

Sejuani had not missed the how in that moment as power, pure and undiluted, had rushed through her, her hand frosted over—not with the familiar white sheen of true ice, but the dark haze of a black frost.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sejuani continues, getting closer to Ashe by the day, but the emergence of black ice—from her own hand—now gives her pause. What does Lissandra know of this? And who can be trusted...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The shortest chapter so far, I apologize if things are feeling a bit slow. I want to ensure enough proper buildup occurs before a loooot of things start happening and snowballing all at once. Any feedback on the chapter is highly appreciated! Thank you for taking the time to continue reading :)

Sejuani shrugged her fur-lined cloak better over her shoulders, and frowned as she poured a cup of the still-hot mulled wine for herself.

Inside her large tent, with its own personal fire pit and chimney venting, there was hardly the same touch of frigid cold as what had already settled outside. Winter was indeed striking hard and early this year, she thought idly, warming her hands against the cup and her stomach from the wine she then swallowed down.

She sipped idly, and thought over what she and her stellari had just discussed here but minutes earlier. The winter had indeed been on their side. Heavy blizzards happening to strike their Avarosan targets the day before the Winter’s Claw planned to attack, snow clouds clearing just before her warriors were in place to move.

But they could not grow lax, could not afford to grow complacent and reliant on the literal winds of luck. Even if it was destiny, destiny was not a gift, it was a prize. It needed to be seized, or it would never come to true and full fruition.

With such thoughts in mind, Sejuani tossed back the last of her drink, setting down the heavy ceramic cup. She flexed her fingers, and then stopped as soon as she realized what she was doing. Her jaw clenched and her lips thinned into a flat line. She would not dwell on this, would not think beyond what she had to accomplish, what many things there were left to do.

Without warning, the pit fire suddenly flickered and dimmed, and though the heavy walls of the tent were firmly closed to the outside, a wind stirred the still air. A shadow seemed to fall, but then the fire crackled back to proper life. Still, Sejuani knew that she was no longer alone.

She turned, and Lissandra stood, the carpet beneath her now decorated in what Sejuani had come to recognize as black ice.

For once, Sejuani waited. She waited to speak, to move. She waited, her eyes hard and calculating, to see what her oracle and mentor would do first.

Lissandra, for her part, seemed either unperturbed or entirely unaware. She stretched her arms wide, an ironic mimicry of a welcoming gesture used for guests. “I told you that I would find you again, did I not, Winter’s Wrath? And here I am.”

She slid closer, closing the distance that separated them.

“And how splendidly you have progressed since we last met. From villages and farms, to now forts and bustling towns, they all break before your spear, the might of your fist. You warriors rally, even while the Avarosan falter. Each day you grow stronger, soon to be an avalanche too mighty for Ashe to resist.”

 _Ashe_. She _would_ make her bow knee and head alike yet. But yet…

“You are quiet, my Warlord. Have you words to speak?”

The cold in Sejuani’s chest jumped, as if Lissandra had but laid her hand again to Sejuani’s sternum. Like last time. Like before. But now...

“My...my,” Sejuani shook her head sharply, grinding her molars in self-directed fury at the reappearance of an old childhood stutter that she had thought long since crushed. When she regained her tongue, her words did not tremble again, but they emerged hard and jumpy, like fractious oxen pushing against the bit and reins of control. “The power unlocked, what you said you brought out in me when we last met, it’s...what is _this_?”

Even now it took no thought. Rather, it emerged with her emotions, and black frost easily blossomed into life around her fists, spidered out from her boots along the carpet, putting her ill at ease even now for how _easy_ this strange power heeded her blood.

“What have you _done_?”

Her voice came out closer to a bellow, but Sejuani could not stop it. Could not stop how her hand ached for the comfort of her flail grip. She expected Lissandra to interject, to cut off what was certainly _not_ the increasingly frantic and panicked tone and pitch to Sejuani’s voice. Yet the Iceborn did not. She simply stood, as unmoving and impassive as the face of a glacier, her masked features showing nothing.

“This is...what _is this_?! This isn’t true ice! I charge into battle and this, this _black frost_ comes to life at my fingertips! Comes from beneath my very skin and breast!” Dark. black, like a touch of the yawning chasm of the Abyss itself. “This wasn’t in the agreement! I never asked for this and now it’s, it’s, I don’t even what it’s—”

“Sejuani,” began Lissandra, and Sejuani jerked as though struck, for all that Lissandra’s voice was even-tempered.

The anger fizzled out of her abruptly, leaving her cold and empty, and what black frost she had inadvertently summoned vaporized into thin air, dispelled. She felt suddenly as a child, caught in the act of something they were ashamed of.

“You wish for answers?”

Sejuani nodded. slowly. She would not acknowledge the hollow gnawing in her stomach. She would _not_ feel fear.

“Then I shall give them to you.” She showed both of her palms, the open-faced and ancient sign for peace. After a moment, she spoke.

“You are right. It is _black ice_. The mirror and opposite to the true ice you know so well. Darkness, yes. Darkness as you have never known. But it is necessary. It is part of the way. You cannot have light without darkness, winter without summer, cold without fire. This has been forgotten by too many.”

Sejuani was yet unmoved, but she held her tongue, and listened.

“Balance,” Lissandra explained. “The true ice...and the black ice.” As she spoke, she held out both palms. From one, the cool sheen of true ice began to form. From the other, the dark echoes of black ice bubbled up. She held both conjurations but for a moment, and then let them fade away.

“I will tell you now, _both_ arts came from the Watchers. Knowledge they bestowed upon the Iceborn. True ice was the more prevalent though, the easier of the two to learn and master, and so when the Watchers were cast into the Abyss, it was true ice that remained after all the years of war and grief between my sisters’ children. As for the black ice…” Lissandra shrugged and turned away, her lips tilted downward in what was not quite a frown, but something else. “It was lost. To all that I know of but me. A potent art and power. And if it can turn the scales that much more, then it must be used.”

Sejuani pursed her lips, and could not help but raise one eyebrow.

Even blind, Lissandra seemed to sense it.

“Yes. For ten thousand year, Serylda’s Scion. Are you surprised? What else has been lost in that time? Legacy, heritage...how many secrets of the golden age have been buried under eons of snow? But now, now the stars align. This year, this midwinter and Longest Night, everything at last aligns, and the new Freljord can be forged, complete and glorious.”

“Then why the black ice!” shouted Sejuani, and her stomach churned. “Why any of this if you already know what—”

“Because you are the instrument of change!” snapped Lissandra, and Sejuani pulled up short, retort dying on her tongue.

Never had she heard Lissandra speak as this, voice full of emotion, of breaking anger but also sharp _desperation_.

“I…I am…” She began uncertainly. An _instrument_?

“Without you, nothing can come to truly pass. For ten thousand years I have been forced to watch from the ice, Sejuani. I have watched as everything that this mighty land once held easily has slipped through its fingers. I have watched as cities grew beyond our borders, as they called us barbarians. I have watched the people of the Three Sisters war for generation after generation, until all that was left of our ‘civilization’ was the ancient ruins of lost centuries.” She paused only to suck in a deep breath, her voice a biting whip. “I have watched _all this time_ , waiting for the one who would bring about change, the one who would be able to usher in the new era when the time was right. For over a hundred lifetimes I have waited for this moment, Sejuani, Serylda’s Scion. I have waited for _you_. You are the crucible, destined to be so much greater than any of your ancestors. With this power, you can take yet another step further above the rest, can assume your destiny that much soon. Why would I not help you take the first steps in that ascension?”

Sejuani felt her brow furrow, the tightness as the skin along her cheek and scar pulled taut. Still...

“Udyr and Volibear speak of a coming darkness that seeks to take us all.” When Lissandra did not cut her off, Sejuani continued, her own voice still unsure of what she spoke. Of what she had been told those few years ago, unbelievable though it was. “Voli speaks says the storm spoke to him in visions...a warning that the Watchers seek to return, even though they were defeated by the Three Sisters.”

She cast out the statement as a challenge, prepared for the incredulity she would be greeted with no doubt, for Lissandra had been _there_ when the Three Sisters had cast those monsters into the Howling Abyss.

She was not ready for when Lissandra nodded in agreement.

“They are right.”

Her jaw gaped for one moment before she snapped it shut.

“I told you that the stars and planets align. This Longest Night, one age will die, and a new one must begin.” If possible, Lissandra’s voice grew even further away, and Sejuani shivered, reminded of when the ‘oracle’ had first spoken the sonorous prophecy of her blood. “The coincidence of your birth, your rise to your true power and strength, the encroaching darkness and the rise of an ancient threat...it is no coincidence. It is fate. Destiny. Do you not see? You are the catalyst for change. Which is why you _must_ fulfill your path and conquer the Freljord, take the seat of power in Rakelstake by midwinter. You must lead the way, and stand above the rest. You must _lead_.”

Lissandra turned toward Sejuani’s plain sleeping pallet, where her armor lay out, polished and organized. Her hand hovered over Sejuani’s helmet, and as Sejuani watched, crystal grew out of the stump of broken true ice on one side. Unsurprisingly, it was not the same bright blue of the first horn, but dark and shadowed, swallowing in the light rather than reflecting. A twin to the original horn, and yet not. A mirror but opposite. Dark to light, shadow to bright, and enrapturing.

“What I offered you is merely another tool to your arsenal. Do you disdain the true ice for coming from the Watcher’s craft? Do you shrug your boar for being your feet for you? Your flail for being your weapon, an extension of your will? I offer you not a crutch, but yet something more, something that Ashe—for all that she flaunts her bow of Avarosa, her barbarian king husband and her many troops—cannot even begin to fathom. I offer you a tool that none born since the fall of the Watchers have wielded...a tool that can be used so that you will be all the more ready to stand against their darkness. It is yours to choose whether you will leave or take. But you must be the one to bring change, to bring the new era.”

She withdrew her hand from where it hovered over Sejuani’s helmet, and the new horn faded away into nothing, leaving behind the the broken stub. Just as it had always been. Incomplete.

Sejuani looked down, staring at her ungloved hands. The skin was cracked and white, heavy with callouses and dried out from the never-ending and bitter cold that was the Freljord. Luxury, rest...they were words she had never known the meaning of. Her destiny had indeed guided her down this path, though the heavens had granted her nothing without taxing back. A fair price, Sejuani had long ago decided, for all of the stories told around the fires and the battle circles spoke of heroes that had given their blood, their limbs, and even their lives to achieve the true greatness divined by the stars for them.

During the winter of her tenth year, the year that her people now called the Bitterest Winter, Sejuani had clung to life by sheer force of will. As her last sibling had died, as she was left an orphan to her family name and had gone to her pallet each night with an food-starved stomach, she had refused to give up. She had clawed her way, year after trying year, from the least amongst her tribe to now the mightiest of them, to the towering warrior that whose whispered name inspired fear amongst her enemies.

And she would live to do more still.

Sejuani balled her hands into fists, then relaxed them back to her sides, staring back up at Lissandra. “So I will, then. I will be ready. And I will sit in Rakelstake _before_ the Longest Night. I will unite the Freljord, and bring in the new era.”

Using whatever was in her power to achieve it. Black ice, true ice. Her means to her end. And when she sat upon the throne at Rakelstake, she would be ready. Watchers be damned.

Lissandra bowed her head in assent. “And I am here to aid your cause. Come.”

She glided over the war table Sejuani had laid out, mind clearly already beyond what words they had just exchanged. Sejuani followed a half step after, suddenly curious as to what advice Lissandra might provide. It was Sejuani who was ever the tactician, after all.

Lissandra, despite her apparent blindness, gestured easily to the map.

“An army runs on its stomach.”

Sejuani nodded. She and her warriors knew better than any other the difference between a full stomach and a gnawing pit.

“The Avarosan are a large group, but well fed from the bounty of the lowland farms, unused to the rigors of war. And the Avarosan lands are well built, interconnected with roads to ensure the speedy transfer of supplies necessary for the upkeep of the army, even if you have already begun taking the northern granaries.” Lissandra waved a hand over the map, and a layer of clear ice formed, images coming to life on the overlay of the map, horses and wagons laden down with salted pork and mead, branching out from the capital. “But disrupt their supply, and their stalwart forefront of troops will soon follow. Desertions, weakened troops...it will crack your way into the heart of Avarosa.”

Sejuani waited, raising an eyebrow. Lissandra, she had learned, did not lecture without reason. If she was merely repeating a tactic Sejuani already knew, then it meant…

“Here are the supply routes that will be used in the next eight-day by the Avarosans.”

On the ice, a multitude of paths between cities and outposts glowed blue, and Sejuani drank in the sight, furiously committing it to memory, already planning the raid orders she would give to her stellari.

Her study was interrupted only once.

“Sejuani.”

She looked up, confused as to what else Lissandra had to say, and then saw the smirk that twisted at the corners of her blue lips.

“Give them no mercy.”

Sejuani grinned back wolfishly, viciously pleased at what was both a request and a command. “I plan on nothing else, Iceborn.”

* * *

“This can’t be right!” exclaimed Ashe, incredulity coloring her tone more than she would have liked.

Tryndamere’s face was dark, his brow furrowed and his lips a thin, unpleasant line beneath his moustache. He took the paper from her limp hands, mouth moving as he read the words, and re-read them again. Finally he looked back up. “Trolls?”

Ashe gritted her teeth, vexation already calling to life the same, old headache behind her eyes. “Trolls! And apparently not a single Frostguard to be spared! Ridiculous! I mean I understand that the trolls have historically been an issue closer to the Ironspikes, but to require the attention of every last warrior and militiaman?”

Tryndamere exhaled heavily. “Princess Lissandra _does_ say that the trolls are more organized this year. A…” He squinted at the paper again. “Troll king. An army of their own.”

Ashe pinched the bridge of her nose tightly. She had no reason to doubt the missive Princess Lissandra had sent back by raven. Indeed, if the darkness was rising, it stood to reason that the trolls and other lesser evils of the Freljord would too be a growing threat. Yet to be unwilling to spare even a bare contingent of trained Frostguard soldiers...particularly when the Frostguard all lived in the high-walled security of Rakelstake, not like the wide-spread lowlands and villages of the Avarosan.

Which were now burning before the onslaught of Sejuani’s war.

“We are by ourselves, then,” said Tryndamere, and his voice was heavy and resigned, the final say.

For what else was there to add? As baffled and disappointed as Ashe was (and she would, of course, be sending a second missive much more _directly_ indicating the need for troops with a heavily signed reminder as _Queen of the Freljord_ ) there was naught else to be accomplished in continuing to voice her thoughts on the matter.

She and Tryndamere, and their combined people of Avarosa and the Steppes, would have to wage this war on their own. There would be no reinforcements as they had expected making their way down from the heart of the Ironspikes. If they were to repel Sejuani’s ambitions here in the lowlands, they would have to do it now, once and for all.

Tryndamere stood, setting aside the letter from Princess Lissandra and walking over to the wall where they had pinned up the great map of their territories. This was their war room--though none of the generals were now present--for they were indeed at war...a war that Ashe had never wanted, had never asked for, had in fact done everything in her power to avoid.

It was a war that already had refugees streaming in from the north, fear apparent in their haggard appearances, in their whispered prayers for Avarosa’s mercy. It was a war that, despite the onset of winter, showed no signs of slowing. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Indeed, Tryndamere hummed deeply as he stared at the map, at the new swathe of land that they had marked off as ‘fallen’ but hours earlier. More and more, each day, each week, as if the appetite for blood only increased in the Winter’s Claw, nevermind what casualties they must surely be incurring as well.

“She is a wise tactician, your Sejuani.”

Ashe started at that, unsure if she was startled by grudging respect in Tryndamere’s voice, or the term ‘your’. She shook her head after a moment, for Sejuani had shown by her precious ‘deeds’ that she was indeed no one’s, to be swayed by no words. Not Ashe’s, nor anyone else.

“She has desired only this war, I think, her entire life.”

Tryndamere shook his head, so slight that it could have been missed. “She desires to conquer decisively. To conquer what you have tried to create.”

A frown tugged at Ashe’s lips. Was that not the same as what she had said? She did not want to quibble, though, and so she moved on.

“We must reinforce the front lines—weapons, food, all necessary supplies to keep the soldiers rested and hardy. Our border is spread too thin, and the Winter’s Claw will continue to regroup and puncture it where it can. Send what other troops we can spare from the city northward.”

Tryndamere scratched at his beard and then nodded. “We have enough to manage one more division, but beyond that we risk leaving the city emptied of any soldiers. We must try to outsmart our opponent, I think.” He point to several dots on the map. “Here, here, and here. She will likely try to re-consolidate forces to strike one of these towns, based on where her main encampment was last scouted. We should send order for the generals to move accordingly. Try to predict the next siege and focus troops there. It we can manage to—”

A loud knocking reverberated through the war room, and before either of them could give the command to enter, the door already opened, the guard falling to his knees in penitence. He wore the elegant blue and silver of the highest rank of the Royal Guard...and the feathered brooch of those who guarded the Aerie.

Ashe felt her throat catch before the words even left his mouth.

“Forgive me, Majesties! I beg pardon for the interruption, but the Cryophoenix, Anivia...she is—”

He gasped as Ashe ran by him, feet already carrying her down the stone hallway, up the stairs and to the rooftop of the tallest tower of their castle. The heavy oak door, the Royal Guards who clustered in the Aerie proper, the burning of her lungs from the sudden exertion...nothing mattered but for the reason why her blood now chilled beneath her skin.

“Anivia!”

The Cryophoenix was in her nest, as usual, but that was all that remained the same from when Ashe had last spoken to her. Seemingly overnight, the creeping white that had slowly grown across Anivia’s wings had suddenly engulfed the whole of her living ice form. Not a trace of the vibrant blue of true ice remained. Anivia lay on her side, wings limp, chest rising and falling slowly.

A dull pain reverberated up through Ashe’s knees, and she only vaguely realized that she had fallen to her knees against the cold tiles.

“Anivia, please no...please you cannot leave us. Not yet.”

Even as Ashe begged, though, Anivia grew only a more solid, opaque white. Small, spidering cracks began to appear on her wings.

“I am…sorry...Ashe…” Each word sounded laborious, heaved through a half-parted beak. “I...cannot...any longer. It is...my time.”

With a trembling hand, Ashe reached out to place her fingers against Anivia’s ‘feathered’ head. The red eyes grew steadily dimmer, losing their strength and light.

“You must...carry on. Fear...the darkness that comes…”

Then Anivia exhaled a last time, and turned fully and completely white. For a long few seconds, the silence of the rooftop was broken only by the sound of Ashe’s own hiccuped breathing. Then there was the distinct, horrible sound of ice cracking, and Ashe withdrew her hand back just in time as the husk that had once been the soul of the Freljord exploded into a shower of fine, crystalline dust.

Ashe coughed violently, and when she had finally cleared her eyes and lungs alike, of the great Cyrophoenix there was no sign. But atop her makeshift ‘nest’ rested a single, large egg. It was mainly white, much the same as Anivia had been in the last breaths of prior life, but at the edges near the bottom were veins of color—strong blue, the hue of true ice, but also deep, black trails of lightning, eating away at the white.

The darkness that might yet consume them all.

And yet with Sejuani nearly on their very doorstep, Ashe was no closer to deciphering the source of this evil than before.

She was not sure how long she remained kneeling. Seconds, minutes...the world outside of her mind ceased to exist…

...Until it was interrupted.

There was only one who would dare to lay a hand on her shoulder, to shake her gently and draw her from her reverie.

Tryndamere towered over her, a massive shadow. What he thought of Anivia’s passing, Ashe could not begin to conceive. He had not been so close a confidant with the Cryophoenix, but he knew just as well as Ashe how this could affect them, affect all of them.

“Ashe, I am sorry, but there are matters which require more urgent attention.”

In a rare fit, Ashe felt her anger spike, driven by helpless fury. “What can be more important than Anivia, than the very spirit of the Freljord passing out of this life and into her next just now?! Is it Sejuani? Has she finally come knocking on the gates of the city to try to seize it from us?”

Her voice cracked at the end. She gasped, trying to catch her breath, suddenly and deeply ashamed for lashing out at Tryndamere, who had been naught but supportive and understanding of her.

If her lawful wedded husband thought anything of it, his shadowed face did not show it. He merely stepped aside, revealing the open doorway behind him. “We have an unexpected visitor.”

“I apologize for interrupting you again, your Majesties, but I come bearing important news.”

There, furs still dusted from the snowfall of her most recent travels, stood the Demacian eagle scout, Quinn.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sejuani closes in on the city of Avarosa, eager to take it, and Ashe learns that the Winter’s Claw is not the only threat encroaching on her city and ancestral lands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to everyone who continues to read and especially to comment. I honestly started writing this because I just really wanted to, and I never expected even half the amount of feedback I've gotten on this so far. Thank you so so much for reading my work and letting me know. It means a tremendous amount to a silly old author like me.

“Here and here, and all along here.”

When Quinn stood back, both she and her eagle, Valor, nodded at the pins she had placed on the map, and Ashe could only stare, a rising sense of horror manifesting as bile in the back of her throat.

“You...you are certain?” Even to her own ears, her voice was terribly faint, though it did not tremble. The question was a formality, for she and Tryndamere alike knew what the scout’s answer would be.

This could not be happening. It could _not_.

And yet it was.

“Yes,” answered Quinn, and her voice was downtrodden, though she did not hesitate. How many times had she been forced to be the bearer of bad news in the past, and now again yet not even to her own liege, but to foreign dignitaries upon whom she would have to trust in their mercy and understanding. Not in them bearing ill-will toward the messenger rather than the message.

Ashe half-sat and half-fell back into her chair, fighting the deep and overwhelming urge to place her face into her hands. She could not fall now. Not now. She was Queen, and her people needed her. She needed to be strong for them.

A large and warm hand engulfed hers suddenly. It was rare of Tryndamere to ever broach her personal space, for he had always been respectful of her—and of the true nature of their ‘marriage’. Yet now the gesture brought her relief as he squeezed her hand, the reassurance of a tried and true friend.

She was not alone in this.

Only once she squeezed back did Tryndamere let go, and it was only then that he turned to meet their problem face on.

“Over twenty-thousand Noxian soldiers.”

It was not a question, but Quinn nodded nonetheless. “Give or take a few thousand. They’ve completely ringed the Freljord from the south, cutting off all main routes out of these territories. I tried to scout some of the more mountainous passes, but with the early snow…”

She shook her head, and Valor flapped his wings for a moment before resettling.

“The way south, be it toward the Steppes or toward Demacia, is blocked by the Noxians.”

Well and truly. A full Noxian army.

Ashe swallowed, finding her usual voice again after a moment. “We thank you for bringing us this information, Quinn.”

For her part, Quinn shrugged. “I don’t care to try my luck with the Noxians, nor does Valor. If I’m to make my way back to Demacia, I believe that you and the Avarosans are my best chance for getting through.”

Honesty, and Ashe could appreciate that. Which in turn warranted forthright honesty back.

“As flattering as the sentiment is—and we _do_ value one of Demacia’s highest ranking scouts coming to us first and foremost—I am afraid that we cannot promise when such safe passage and the breaking of the Noxian front might occur.”

 _Twenty-thousand_...gods have mercy on them. The Noxian war machine was sitting on their back doorstep.

“You understand,” continued Tryndamere. “We are already at war with the Winter’s Claw. Sejuani has already invaded from the north, and our troops and efforts are focused on stemming the tide of her attacks.”

Quinn sighed and took her own seat, sipping the steaming hot tea which had been provided. Ashe’s tea remained untouched, and for once she almost wished for the heavy but strongly alcoholic _ushgui_ that Tryndamere’s people brewed. Something to take the edge off of her anxiety.

It couldn’t be helped though.

“I understand,” conceded Quinn. “Understand too though that Noxus looks prepared to invade. I know not when, and doubt even the Noxian troops would like to wade into an already existing war, particularly as the heart of winter approaches...yet…”

Ashe stared at the new markings on the map, the new ring of red to the south of them. Sejuani to the north, and Noxus to the South. If Sejuani chose to make a deal with Noxians…

She shuddered, unable to help it.

They would be exterminated, as simple as that. A chillingly dire thought.

And yet, she could not imagine Sejuani, even Sejuani, yet allying with Noxus.

She turned to Quinn. “You spoke when we last met of missives between the Noxians and Sejuani. Tell me, can you or can you not confirm if the Winter’s Claw and this Noxian army have reached an accord.”

Quinn traced the rim of her tea cup with a finger, her brow furrowed in concentrated worry as she studied that hot water. Valor squawked, and she shushed him gently before finally turning to face Ashe and Tryndamere.

“Honestly, your Majesties, I cannot in good conscience say. I did not see signs of ongoing correspondence between the two groups—no ravens, no stream of messengers—but I cannot say for certain.”

“But?” prompted Tryndamere, urging her to speak her mind.

After a moment of wetting her lips, Quinn did, her words coming in the slow but steady stream of careful thought.

“I do not think so. If what you say of your war is true, if the Winter’s Wrath pushes so hard from the north now and your cities are emptied of their standing armies…” She paused for a moment, sharp eyes flickering back to the map that hung on the wall. “It stands to reason that Noxus would have begun their assault by now. A two-front war in which you would be spread too thin against to remain standing. No, your Majesties, I do not believe the alliance you fear exists.”

 _Yet_. The unspoken danger remained in the air, weighing down on them all.

Against such a force they would be heavily outmatched. Unless…

Ashe leaned forward, seeking Quinn’s gaze with her own. “Quinn, what of Demacia? I know that King Jarvan III is loathe to make diplomatic ties with a yet un-united land such as ours, but if a Noxian army has already assembled here, so close to their own kingdom…”

It was Tryndamere who responded, his voice scarcely repressed anger. “Demacia does not intervene in the wars of Noxus until it directly impacts Demacian assets and ambitions.” His eyes were hard. “We saw that on the Steppes.”

Ashe winced, and saw Quinn do similar. Valor, for his part, puffed his feathers defensively, a sharp screech leaving him at the perceived insult on his mistress.

“Valor! At ease! He means no harm by it.” A few decidedly offended chirps later and Valor closed his wings, looking away from everyone in the room.

“Well?” prompted Ashe gently after a moment.

For once, the scout looked guiltily abashed. “I...I am afraid your husband is correct. In efforts to maintain a relative peace on Runeterra and prevent another large-scale rune war, King Jarvan III maintains a policy established by his father to not engage with Noxian troops unless they directly encroach on Demacian troops, citizens, territory, or other similar assets. While his Majesty may have troops assembled along the Demacian border, they will not move in toward the Freljord. They are there to serve as the shield for Demacia.”

Tryndamere made a sound of derision to her side, but Ashe ignored him, mind still working frantically.

“What if I could secure you passage through the Noxian front? Back toward Demacia? Ensure that the king gets his most prized scout back safe and whole? What then?”

She heard Trynd draw a breath, held her hand out to stay his response. She knew it bordered on foolhardy, this offer. They could not readily afford the resources to grant Quinn the passage she sought, and even if they did manage it, who was to say the scout would not return complacently to her homeland and leave them to their own civil war to handle.

It was a mighty gamble, yet Ashe was inclined to trust the foreign scout...and her experience had long since taught her to trust her instinct.

Quinn’s eyes widened at the words, recognition of just how costly an offer for Ashe it was. Desire, hope...but then the light dimmed from her eyes, and with it, too, did Ashe’s prospects. Her heart fell before Quinn even answered.

“I am sorry but...it is doubtful. I’m just...one person. Just one scout. His Majesty cannot risk starting all out war with Noxus over one soldier. Forgive me.”

Ashe bowed her head. There was nothing to truly forgive. Quinn’s response was more honest than many in her position would have been. It had indeed been too much to hope. With Anivia gone, with Princess Lissandra holed up at Rakelstake, and with Noxus now sitting behind them..their options were growing thinner by the day.

But if Noxus was yet to show signs of moving, then they yet had time.

They had not thought to look toward the south, but they would no longer be caught blind.

“I will offer you what services I can, your Majesties, little though they are.”

It was a fair thing, even if Quinn’s ultimate interests were in her own survival. When Ashe looked into the hawkish eyes of the scout, she saw something of herself reflected back, the same steel beneath those dark lashes, the same simple recognition that neither of them could go this alone.

Only together were they stronger.

They would not fracture as Sejuani willed them to.

There were other kinds of strength than those that her longtime rival chose to recognize, and Ashe would see Sejuani acknowledge it yet.

They would not fail before the onslaught of the north.

They could not afford to.

* * *

Sejuani gasped awake and sat bolt upright, breathing heavily in the dark air of her tent, one hand grasping over her heart. She felt a phantom touch at her ear, lingering at her neck as if pushing the unruly locks of hair aside before fleeing down her backside and sending a wave of shivers across her naked skin.

The words of the oracle, of Lissandra, echoed in her ear, a nearly seductive hiss.

... _diademed conqueror_ …

Her insides lurched for a moment, a cold tingling running from her breast to her fingers and toes, and leaving instead in its wake a gradual, simmering heat.

As her breathing finally slowed she looked at her surroundings, the dark shapes of tables and carpets, the faintest of embers still left from the charred remains of what had once been a pit fire. She was alone. It was the dead of night still, at least a few hours before pale dawn would rise, before they would move out to take another supply caravan, and then double around to back-attack a city that their main forces would already be striking.

There was no need to awaken yet.

Sejuani shook her head, trying to throw off the dream-like sensation of fingers trailing across her skin, and shuddering despite the heavy layers of fur blankets that she rested beneath. She closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep, to the rest that her body would need for the day’s battles ahead, and yet the darkness was unrelenting.

After a moment she grunted, throwing herself back down into her mat and pillow, sheets and furs tangling between her legs. The brush of fabric against skin only drew further attention to the persistent, hot ache that had grown in her stomach and groin, and she groaned in displeasure.

Her mind was better occupied elsewhere, on the upcoming battles yet to win, on her plans to take Avarosa within the week, on Ashe…

Ashe.

Sejuani snarled into her pillow, rage bubbling and blending with that sharp heat in her blood, at odds with the persistent chill she had grown accustomed to beneath her sternum. She tried to focus on the cold, to become one with it, part of it, and yet the hot fire in her veins would not be appeased.

How she despised it, visiting her in the disorienting darkness of the night, when her mind was half hazed between the sleeping and waking worlds, confusing and slowing the cold precision of her conscious focus.

The thought slid by, like the faintest wisp of smoke, and yet as soon as it was noticed, it stayed damningly at the forefront of her mind, a persistent temptation that she had long since thought put behind her.

She could go out, even now if she so desired. How many among her followers would fight for the chance to spend a night with her? To please her however she chose or asked. Yet the mere thought only seemed to fuel her hot, liquid anger even further. The thought of admitting such a need, such a human weakness…

There was no time for the triviality, for the _deficiency_.

Every last fiber of her being needed to turn toward the south and the east now, to hone in on the only trophies worthy of her time and effort. To be distracted by such unnecessary thoughts was to risk falling. She had to be more than human—she _was_ already more than human. Now was not the time to pull back. All the heavens were aligned to her favor and her destiny, and she could not afford luxury nor rest until she had fulfilled it.

That dream, that fate, was the only thing that mattered anymore.

And she would have it, before even the Longest Night that Lissandra so fretted over.

With a loud scoff, Sejuani turned over again, cheek pushed into the scratchy linen of her lumpy pillow, hands fisted into the furs. She closed her eyes a second time, seeking the cold solace of the steady chill that Lissandra had awakened beneath her breast.

She would take Avarosa soon. And when she did, when Ashe finally begged for mercy before her, then the fire would be finally appeased.

And her new age would begin.

* * *

Impossible.

It was utterly impossible.

The fact that it went beyond even sheer luck or logic mattered little; the end result was the same: the Avarosan frontlines, where they had poured troops and resources day after day, had been breached. Crumbled.

Those few who had survived the titanic battles waged leagues north—those who had not deserted, who had not been left for dead on the battlefields, or had even chose to _defect_ —they came back to the city, eyes wild and haggard as they relayed of the Winter’s Claw seeming prescience. Eyes in the trees, in the birds, in the very clouds themselves, relaying everything of the Avarosans back to the Winter’s Wrath herself...or so they babbled. No single supply line left untouched, entire garrisons starved out, captured, or simply left to provide carrion for the crows.

The crows and vultures followed Sejuani’s coming in droves now, eager for the bloodsport she would provide their greedy stomachs.

And there would be no vanguard to halt her, not anymore.

Their army line had been broken, and if the broken soldiers who poured into the city by the day spoke truly, Sejuani would arrive at Avarosa in less than a week’s time.

The war room was loud, buzzing with furious and frantic energy.

Even now the generals argued.

It was impossible, they yelled. Only spies could have given the Winter’s Claw such precise and vast information.

Ashe squeezed her eyes shut, trying to drown out the constant, anxiety-inducing chatter. It didn’t matter now. _How_ hardly mattered. All that mattered was the reality of the situation. In a fortnight, Sejuani had gone from a northern front for Ashe’s people to wall themselves against to conqueror now bearing down on the cradle of their heritage lands.

And all the while Noxus remained at their back doorstep.

She and Tryndamere still had troops enough to fortify and hold in the city. Enough remained and stood strong. They _could_ keep their position.

Yet…

Was Sejuani the hammer, and Noxus the anvil? To crush them within the walls of their own city.

The thought made Ashe’s stomach roil, and a cold sweat broke out on her brow. Against such combined numbers—if indeed Sejuani looked to strike a timely alliance with Noxus—she stood no chance. They had always known this. But she had thought time would be on their side.

Now there was not even time enough to summon Princess Lissandra and the Frostguard to aid them.

They could try to ride out and meet Sejuani on the open fields, stage a full and open battle that would not catch the city in the crossfire of ambitions. Or they could remain in the castle. They could use what time they still had to try to buffer their defenses, to prepare for the siege that would soon impact their walls, and to hold their own until they could push back... _if_ they were able to push back. If Noxus played no role.

Or…

There was another option, distasteful though it was on her tongue. Cowardly, many might say, though Ashe cared not for outdated terms of ‘courage’ that sacrificed livelihood over supposed honor.

No, it soured her mouth for other reasons, for everything she had gained—everything her people had gained—thus far had been hard earned. Their work, their sweat and toil and sacrifice over the generations...to come to this…

But she would not and could risk the future and dream that they all shared for the sake of material sentimentalities. No matter how hard a truth it was.

“Damn it!”

Ashe’s fist slammed onto the table before she had even realized the curse had passed her lips. For once, she couldn’t even care at the unusual slip up, at the way all eyes immediately focused on her uncharacteristic outburst. Her eyes burned, vision blurring for a long moment as the words caught and choked in her throat, like corrosive bile that she wanted nothing more than to swallow and force back down.

But she couldn’t. She had to be the one to say it, to give the orders.

She closed her eyes, wanting nothing more than to disappear into the blackness. Yet she reopened them to the fine grains of wood on the table, the same heavy reality as moments earlier, unchanging and final.

Ashe forced her fist to relax, to stand straight-backed and tall, to adopt the same perfect and unfeeling mask she had learned to wear all those years ago when she had laid her mother into a deep and dark cairn into the earth.

The mask had grown heavier than she ever imagined.

She might bend, but she would not break. She was their Queen, and this was her duty, her responsibility to bear.

“Give the emergency orders. I want every last soldier helping the civilians out of the city. Tell families to take only what they can carry with them. They may go to whatever safe havens they wish...or…” She swallowed down the bitterness. “Or choose to stay, at their own risk. Give the decree. We are leaving the city.”

Leaving it. _Not_ abandoning it. They would come back. When spring thawed and the way was clear, when their troops were rested and Sejuani’s wary and spread thin, they would return.

She swore it.

Until then, however…

“We will retreat into the ancient fortress city of Rakelstake. Send the fastest ravens to alert Princess Lissandra so that she may be ready for our arrival. We will take as much grain and stores as we can, but we will evacuate the city by dawn tomorrow. Make haste and spread the word now.”

There was a small eternity as her command echoed through the air, as Tryndamere lowered his head, and as everyone in the room accepted the unwanted truth of their queen’s decree.

This was all they could do...with their front line defenses broken and the Winter’s Claw due to make it to the castle as early as tomorrow’s nightfall. And it was to say nothing of the Noxian threat that still loomed just to the south. Perhaps if they were lucky...the Noxians might choose to strike on Sejuani. But Ashe could not rely on pure whim.

They would go to Rakelstake, combine their forces with Lissandra’s and hold steady and strong behind the colossal granite walls that had never once been breached in known history. They would hold for the remainder of the season, while—if she chose to follow—Sejuani’s men and woman would suffer in the heart of the Freljordian winter.

It was the only logical option.

The long moment passed, and then the chaos began. Her captains and generals were already a flurry of salutes and movement, sweating to accomplish the monumental task of emptying their city in a day’s time. Time was critical, and every second now precious.

There was much to be accomplished in what limited hours were left.

No one could afford to be lax.

As her officers busied themselves with executing her commands, speaking in low but hurried tones to Tryndamere, Ashe approached the one person who remained silent and unmoving in the room.

“Quinn.”

The scout bowed her head, just the appropriate amount as was expected in deference to a foreign queen, practiced and easy. When she straightened, her gaze was sharp and ready, if somewhat confused.

“Your Majesty?”

Ashe waved the formality aside, as had become a habit between her and Quinn as of late. “Just ‘Ashe’ will do. I need your assistance, Quinn.” Her eyes flickered briefly to Valor. “What do you know when it comes to taking care of bird eggs?”

* * *

 

Dawn rose on the horizon, and Sejuani smiled.

The sun illuminated the gray clouds overhead a golden red. Hoarfrost covered the frozen ground, and the puffs of breath from men, women, and animals alike condensed into clouds before fading into the winter air.

A few stamped their feet impatiently, or readjusted their thick cloaks better against the chill, but Sejuani remained ever silent and still, as immovable as a glacier, and more focused than the hawk that Ashe was so nicknamed for.

She would not falter, not again. Not now, when she was this close.

When the city of Avarosa lay before them, ripe for the taking.

Ashe and Tryndamere had left, she knew, were already two days ahead on the way to Rakelstake and their believed allies. Sejuani had made no haste to follow them, though her stellari and even Olaf had been more than eager. There was no need to rush blindly ahead,

No matter the great walls of Rakelstake, Sejuani knew that Lissandra’s ancient home would not ultimately protect the so-called Queen of the Freljord. Her cowardice would grant her no respite when Sejuani finally marched on the capital of the realm, for the Frostguard would then bow before the one, true conqueror of the land.

And when Sejuani finally took her rightful place on the granite throne of the Freljord, so too would the false queen finally be forced to bend knee, acknowledging the victor—acknowledging Sejuani—once and for all.

Now, more than ever before, her dream was a vision before her, clearer by the day. A dawn where she would wear the crown of true ice above her brow, where Ashe would at last _know_ the truth of the way of the Winter’s Claw, of Sejuani’s star-prophesied strength, and the kingdom would be one.

She would seize it all soon enough. And there would be none who would dare look down upon her and her peoples ever again.

The leather grip on her flail creaked and cracked for the sheer amount of force that Sejuani’s fists applied to it, black frost veining out from her gauntlet.

She glanced downward as Bristle shuffled below her, frowning for a moment before the black frost retreated under her conscious thought.

Not yet. It was not called for _just yet_.

Soon though.

Ashe may have fled in the face of Sejuani’s growing horde on her horizon, but her city of Avarosa was not emptied, no.

Not all her soldiers had chosen to leave with their cowardly ‘queen’, and for those that remained…

Sejuani grinned viciously. They would indeed have a good battle this day, for nothing fueled the bloodlust of men quite so much as desperation, made them fight so fiercely as when cornered. Perhaps Olaf might even have a chance at a worthy challenger today, if Sejuani did not best them first.

She shifted her weight atop Bristle, and what chatter and shuffling there was along the lines died down until only the wind could be heard, moaning and whistling from the north. Her warriors, even those new to the Winter’s Claw—who had swelled their ranks as they had campaigned south—knew their warlord well. And they knew what the straightening of her back meant, the re-hefting of her flail in her sword arm.

“Winter’s Wrath?”

Her stellari crowded by her sides, reverent but eager, and even without looking, Sejuani could sense the way their eyes shone, how they thirsted for the orders to war. How they obeyed her unconditionally, for she had not yet led them astray.

The cold smirk tugged at Sejuani’s lips, and for once she allowed it, a sneer at what was to come. Ashe had already abandoned her homeland. Now, Sejuani would only tighten the fist.

She raised her gauntlet-decorated left arm into the sky, and a crow cawed loudly, echoing across the vanguard.

With no call, no verbal order, Sejuani flicked her wrist, fingers pointing forward and slashing her arm downward as an axe might chop wood, and began the charge.

The war cry roared into life behind her, yells, screams, blending together with the concussive force of so many thousands of feet against the unmoving and unforgiving earth that had forged them no differently than the cold.

They were a weapon now, a force of nature honed by the very elements that would have otherwise destroyed them over the course of generations.

And against them, the soft Avarosans stood no chance.

The crash of the vanguard against the first of the defenders shook the ground, and Bristle stormed right over the first wave of barbarians and Avarosans, flailing his tusks to send broken bodies flying.

Sejuani laughed as she reigned Bristle back around, preparing to double back. Fools, the lot of them. Fools for choosing Ashe, for not believing in Sejuani...for not _fearing_ her.

Their blood would never be enough to pay for that mistake.

A company of barbarians ran down from astreet toward her, shouting rallies in the foreign tongue from the Steppes, brandishing their weapons as they charged.

Rather than direct Bristle at them, rather than call her warriors down on the meager soldiers, Sejuani lowered her flail, turned her unarmed side to her would-be attackers.

Then she stretched out her arm, fingers reaching, muscles tensing.

It surged up through her veins, as though her very blood was ice, was truly born from the Freljord itself than from the flesh of a human womb.

Strength. Power. And control.

She bared her teeth viciously, murmuring under her breath in a snarl. “Freeze.”

Black ice shattered up from beneath the frozen ground, a violent eruption that sprayed the trampled snow with fresh blood. Those that were not taken by the great shards of black ice then fell to Sejuani’s quick flail, none ever making it close enough to even dream of landing a blow on her.

Cheers went up and around, rallying calls to the Winter’s Wrath, to the unstoppable force of fury that their prophesied leader had become. Mowing down the soldiers who had stayed behind in Ashe’s city was but an exercise. Too easy.

Ashe thought herself the Chosen, picked by mere ability to summon ice from thin air.

She was not the only one now.

For her warriors, it was a rally.

For her enemies, it was their end.

And for Sejuani...well…

It was simply another step forward, another step up.

Avarosa was hers. She would sit on the pretender’s ‘throne’ before the sun had even peaked for the day.

And Rakelstake—and at long last, Ashe—would be next.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Sejuani gathers her forces to prepare for a final march to Rakelstake, she must account for the Noxians at her back, as Volibear rejoins her after his time spent away with Udyr.

The main receiving hall of Avarosa, Sejuani was certain, had never been quite so alive before. At least not like this.

Sejuani had issued strict orders not to ransack the city proper—orders that she knew the men and women took seriously after the first few offenders had been shackled and flogged from breaking—but the campaign to get this far had been exhaustive for all of their victories, and she knew the importance of giving her warriors _something_ in compensation.

The city was off limits, but the castle was free reign.

It had been pure pandemonium for the first few hours. Doors smashed, curtains torn, furniture broken against the stones as her warriors greedily pilfered every last bit of jewels and gold and valuables that could be found. Sejuani had seized control what had been left behind of the main treasury, had commanded her stellari to hand out portions of it to all the soldiers, to melt some into commemorative rings for the vanguard.

Let no man or woman say they did not get their fair share of the sacking of Avarosa.

Indeed, there was no hint of even the faintest discontent in the great hall. Intended no doubt to be a throne room, Sejuani had almost immediately repurposed it for a more suitable use. Now it was a makeshift mead hall, a mess of tables and benches strewn across the length of it in a disordered array made even more chaotic by the mass of officers and soldiers who filled the hall. Their voices were unapologetically raucous, made louder no doubt by the free-flowing ale, as they bartered their trophies of silks and gems amongst one another, boasting of what findings they had scavenged from Ashe’s homeland.

Sejuani permitted herself a cruel smile.

It was both fitting and deserving that this was how Avarosa “fell” to the Winter’s Claw, the heart of Ashe’s small empire returned to the very tribe from which so much had been taken over the centuries. The new age was fast approaching, and no one could stop it. Not even Avarosa’s Chosen.

Change, and Sejuani would usher it in.

But for the moment, her warriors were allowed their night of festivities. They had, after all, earned it. The high walls and great stone foundations, the seemingly endless stores of grain and ale...it was all a far cry from the cold and relentless hardship they had al long endured in order to get here now; it was a first taste of the greatness Sejuani intended to build once the whole of the land was at last united under her...once one, true tribe reigned over all.

Of course for now…

Another one of the food bearers came up to her, a thick and ornate pewter plate taken from Ashe’s kitchens and laden down with sliced and steaming venison, roasted winter root vegetables, and thick and hearty bread. Her goblet was refilled with mead before she could say otherwise, nevermind that it was hardly even emptied, and the platter was proffered before her, finest choices offered up.

Sejuani, however, waved it away. Just as she had for the offer before this one, and the offer before that.

“No feasting for you, victorious leader?” Like nearly everything he spoke, the words left Olaf’s mouth like a taunt, though Sejuani was unbothered by it. She merely watched, eyebrows raised, as Olaf swiped up a hefty portion of the food Sejuani had declined, hot grease dribbling from the meat onto his fingers and then his lips and beard and he ate.

The aroma of food was appealing, certainly, but Sejuani’s stomach remained unaffected by it, as had seemed to become normal for her as of late. Less sustenance ingested into her body, and yet she was ever more alert. Stronger, faster, sharper. As if energized by something greater than mere material food.

“You may inform me when you think my endurance and stamina on the battlefield are lacking,” she retorted with a small smirk, anticipating his response.

Sure enough, Olaf swallowed just enough of the meat to guffaw loudly. “I’ll take your extra rations with no complaints!” As if to punctuate the idea, he threw another slice of venison into his mouth, still talking as he chewed fiercely. “‘Course...everyone else is celebrating.”

Sejuani leaned back into her chair, tilting her chin up just the slightest degree. “I will celebrate when my banner hangs over the whole of the Freljord, not just Avarosa.”

 _And when Ashe bows her head at long last_. Though that went unspoken.

When Olaf finished swallowing this time, he gave her a surprisingly shrewd and knowing glance. “Not one to be bothered with distractions, eh?”

As if she ever had been.

There was a long pause, in which Sejuani had just enough time to think Olaf had turned his attentions back to the food and alcohol, before he spoke again.

“Twenty-thousand,” murmured Olaf, stroking his beard after taking a tremendous gulp of mead. Despite having emptied an entire wineskin, his cheeks weren’t even red yet. Someday, perhaps when this was all settled and done, she would need to witness a drink off between Olaf and the legendary brewer Gragas. “No number to scoff at.”

Sejuani shifted, turning her full attention to him and raising one eyebrow. “You think I should have accepted their offer?”

It was clear without saying what Olaf spoke of. The Noxian emissary had been all too quick to reach the gates of Avarosa after the initial sacking had calmed enough, bearing word that Noxus had reconsidered the situation of things in the north, that the Dark Empire believed an alliance would suit both them and the Winter’s Claw alike.

Alliance. What a meaningless word.

Sejuani scoffed now just as much as she had then before the messenger.

‘Curious’ that Noxus had come forward only _after_ Sejuani had taken Avarosa, only after the tides had so clearly shifted to the favor of the Winter’s Claw, after the hardest portion of the campaign had been accomplished. Sejuani was more cunning than she knew her rivals took her to be. It was why Ashe and her husband now suffered to hole themselves up in Rakelstake rather than in their homeland.

So, too, it had not passed beneath her notice how, for all of their great army stationed just to the south of the Freljord, Noxus had extended no efforts until only now, when there was little risk to their own vast troops.

The Freljord could be united only by those strong enough seize it, and as far as Sejuani was concerned, Noxus was not counted among those.

“Would you have me ally with them, then?” Her voice rose just the slightest bit, still conversational, still measured, but hard. “Or should I toss you to their frontlines? Perhaps the challenge of twenty-thousand Noxian soldiers at once might lead you to your destiny. Is this not what you want?”

Anyone else would have blanched at the calmly grinning threat Sejuani made. Any but Olaf. He chuckled good-naturedly at the implication of near suicide, and took a deep drag from a new wineskin, wiping the moisture from his lips afterward and sighing contentedly.

“This is why I like you, oh-star-chosen-warlord. No dicing with words. I can appreciate that. Just saying, Noxus is no child to the battle circle. No throng of frightened Avarosans sitting just south of you to be cowed. Noxus is a war machine, or so the saying goes. You sure you want throw them aside so lightly? Could be useful in taking Rakelstake…”

Indeed, that many thousands of well-trained and obedient soldiers would be a gift to any army. But only if they were obedient to Sejuani and her aims.

And that was doubtful.

Perhaps months earlier, when Sejuani was just beginning her campaign, she might have considered the alliance. Now, however, the Noxian intent was clear to her, but even with so great a potential threat as twenty-thousand of them, she did not fear it.

“I am not fooled by their promises, Olaf. They are snakes, greedy to take from us, but biding for their moment to strike. Noxus has no allies, only vassals. In that, Udyr spoke truly. What the Dark Empire looks for is clear. They would see us turn our backs and then drive a knife between our ribs in the last moment, take everything for themselves after the Three Sisters have been exhausted and are ripe for the taking.”

Olaf hummed at this, nodding his head slowly. No signs of disagreement showed on his face ts Sejuani’s assessment. “Then we hold on the campaign? Drive them off our back doorstep?”

That earned a scoff. As if she would be so dissuaded when her final goal was yet so close.

“Let them sit to the south. I do not care. They have numbers, but they are even weaker to the Freljordian winter than the barbarians. Let the snows freeze them and rob them of their strength while they wait. I will not change my plans for their thinly veiled threats. We will march as planned in two days’ time, and in an eight-day, this war will be over. Should Noxus think themselves cleverer than us, to march on Avarosa after we take Rakelstake, well…”

She crushed one hand into a fist. Avarosan, Noxian...it made little difference. Those who dared to oppose her would end the same. If Noxus thought to take advantage of them when their guard was down, they would be sorely mistaken.

While he clearly appreciated the sentiment, Olaf did not yet seem entirely convinced. “Better take Rakelstake fast then.”

Now Sejuani leaned back into her seat more easily, pressing her lips together in a thin and secretive smile. For this task, she had few concerns. There would be no long siege, no great battle as she knew so many expected. When she reached Rakelstake, the great doors built by their ancestors would be thrown open, and Lissandra—and the true crown to the Freljord—would be awaiting her.

“Ashe is not so safe in Rakelstake as she thinks.” Olaf squinted at her, but she merely smiled, declining to divulge further. All would come about in due time. “If the Noxians think to jump in when our attentions are invested elsewhere, then they will learn something new about the ‘strength’ they so boast of...and how it fares against the power of the North.”

After a long moment, Olaf shrugged. He had never been one for the finer points of strategy anyway, and Sejuani could tell when his interest had waned. The wineskin had become more fascinating in the given moment. Indeed, he took another swig, shrugging again as he swallowed it down.

“Makes no difference to me. As long as I get a good fight in.”

Sejuani gestured with a hand. “Have I yet disappointed you?”

“Aye, that you haven’t.” Olaf gave a wolfish grin, and then yelled for more ale.

His attention now thoroughly divested elsewhere, Sejuani took the moment to lean back and better survey the hall. The mood amongst her warriors was rightly celebratory. They dined on the fresh stores of meat and grain and spirits that Ashe had been unable to take with her; they boasted of their conquests of the jewel capital of the Avarosans, and spoke in eager tones to seize the whole of the Freljord once and for all. Moral was at the highest she could ever recall, a reprieve that she and her people alike were long overdue in enjoying. Hundreds of year, many could argue.

Though their work was not yet done.

“Warlord.”

Sejuani turned, yet it was not another platter of roasted meat and vegetables being proffered for her liking, but one of the smithies, thick beard and coal stained fingers offering a set of papers to her.

“We’ve finished accounting for everything that was left behind in the armory and forge, and there’s ample material for me to do what you asked. These are the designs I had in mind.”

Sejuani accepted the thick, yellow-stained parchment, brow drawn down as she examined the charcoal sketches. They were rough, but the designs were clear in the bold, simple lines. It was obvious, yes. The plates that would be mounted onto Bristle’s head and legs, even steel ribbed fittings for his tusks.

“You can have this ready when we leave in two days’ time?” She kept her eyes on the drawings, but did not miss in her peripheral how the man bowed.

“Of course. The Avarosans left a great amount of metal sheet and horse armor in their blacksmith in their haste to retreat. The modifications will be easy enough for us to make, and appropriately suited to the true uniter of the Freljord, Warlord.”

Finally, Sejuani looked up, and nodded. She handed the papers back, and waved with one hand. “Have it done, then, and notify me when you are finished. Be certain to restock the warriors with whatever weapons and armor need replacing as well.”

“As you command, Winter’s Wrath. We will tend to it immediately.”

He bowed, and then took his leave, and Sejuani smiled. When she reached Rakelstake, she would arrive as the true and chosen conqueror, the city expecting her atop her Bristle, and Ashe at last bowing before her and acknowledging the true nature of strength.

It would all come together soon. The Freljord, the balance. Everything was aligning as prophesied, and Sejuani would be at the forefront of it.

* * *

The next day found the great hall markedly more sedate. For those not busy nursing headaches from the night of revelry, business was already in order. The oaken tables and tile floors were cleared and cleaned of any messes left from the feast, and Sejuani had taken the better portion of the morning to plan with her stellari their next steps going forward. It had taken some convincing that no huge amount of siege weaponry would need to be constructed nor dragged with them, but Sejuani had seen the exact moment realization had dawned across their faces over what was being insinuated, at what Sejuani had yet to fully and directly voice: that not all was it seemed, and that the way into the heart of the Freljord would be left open-doored to them.

She had seen the exact moment the questions and doubts melted away to near reverence, for had she yet to lead them astray? All would come together as planned. And so they had bowed and done as she asked in preparation.

A map was now spread across her lap, the final preparations for the route they would take on the morrow. A sizeable chunk of her forces would indeed still be left at Avarosa in case the Noxians chose to act in Sejuani’s absence. She would not be caught unaware, and the contingent left here would be more than sufficient to hold in the case of a siege until the united forces of both their Winter’s Claw brethren _and_ the Frostguard could arrive.

In the meantime, Sejuani would lead the rest of her warriors through the the north-eastern route, the ancient road carved through the mountains so many ages earlier that led directly to Rakelstake. Even with the early winter, the road would still be more than passable, designed to weather far worse than the first few rounds of blizzards.

“Should take no more than four days at a decent pace…” the stellari who was talking with her trailed off as one perfunctory knock sounded from the tall, wooden entry doors to the hall, and then they creaked open, a guard poking his head in to interrupt. 

“Warlord, word from the north! Chieftain Volibear has just arrived—”

Before the man could even finish, the great doors burst fully open, sunlight pouring in around the edges of a familiar and looming beastly shadow.

Volibear’s voice echoed easily through the high vaulted beams of the hall as he extolled his congratulations.

“Well and well, Sejuani, and here I thought even I was joking when I asked you to save some for this ursine!” He laughed from his belly, deep and true. “Take it all by midwinter, did you not say? I have to admit, I now believe you will!”

Sejuani made no moves to yet stand. Now as the doors closed, and the strongest of the sunbeams eased from her eyes, she could see Volibear as he loped down the hall toward her, taking his time to appreciate the interior of the prized jewel of Avarosa. The corners of her lips tugged upward in a smirk. If only Lissandra, too, could be here now to witness first hand how easily Sejuani had captured it. Of course, Lissandra had prophesied it all, and Sejuani felt the ancestor’s smile would be one of exact pleasure, not the awe that Voli now showed.

“And what of you?” She called out, rolling up the map she had been busied with and passing it to a nearby aide. “No Udyr at your side? Is the spirit walker’s business with the evil in the shadows yet unresolved?”

Volibear’s pensive hum carried across the air, and she saw him shake his head, no longer distracted by his surroundings, now proceeding directly toward Sejuani’s dais and seat. “We could not find the ice witch that he hunts. But the signs are worrying to me, Sejuani. The sudden absence of all things dark. The ice wraiths, the banshee spirits, even the trolls...it is as though they have suddenly disappeared, and I fear what it means, for I think it does not bode well, and that the evil yet gathers. The quiet before the storm.”

Sejuani nodded, placing one hand onto her chin. “Indeed, if the Watchers look to return.”

Now drawing close, she saw Volibear stiffen for a moment, for never before had she readily agreed on just _what_ his storm visions had purportedly indicated, not when her own histories had spoken of the Watchers being forever cast into the Abyss. But so too had her own histories proclaimed that all three sisters had died...as was not the case. Lissandra had opened her eyes to much more than just her destiny as warlord.

“You believe the truth of the storm?” Surprise was a rare thing from the chieftain of the ursine, but it colored Voli’s words now.

“Much has happened in the past months, Volibear, since I first searched out my oracle again, since I began this war to end our endless ages old war. Yes, I believe the darkness gathers, but already we prepare for it. Should the Watchers seek to return, it will be before a united Freljord, and to a people with more weapons at their disposal than our would-be overlords would think. We will cast them into the Abyss fully and for eternity this time, and herald in a new golden age of prosperity and balance, and strength.”

“I...yes! This is what will be needed! Udyr will be pleased to know this. I know the spirit walker is making his own way through the mountains, toward Rakelstake, but I wished to keep my word and meet with you here. I made haste, though I admit I did not anticipate how quickly…”

Volibear’s words fell off oddly, his gait suddenly stinted and slowing as he approached her fully, coming to a full stop before the dais.

“What...have you done?” He spoke in an accusing whisper, which from an ursine was the low and rolling thunder of a summer storm across the foothills of the Ironspikes.

Sejuani felt her brow and stomach clench, her eyes narrow as sudden wariness took her. She felt the now-familiar cold touch within her breast flow outward through her veins, and took quiet reassurance in it before she chose her words.

“What do you mean?” She gestured with one hand. “I have done precisely what I said I would, as you yourself just reiterated to me. I have taken Ashe’s very homeland, have made her and her followers alike flee in fear before the onslaught of  my people. While you tended to your affairs, so have I seen through mine. My promise to sit upon the granite throne in Rakelstake by the Longest Night no longer seems quite so boastful, no?”

“No…” His voice grew now, from a whisper to the first hints of a roar. “What have you done? What darkness have you allowed into yourself?”

She followed his gaze, which was trained unerringly not on her, but below.

Her helmet lay to the side of her chair, no longer quite single horned any more. The curl of true ice remained on the right hand side, like a lonely mountain peak, bereft of its twin. But from the broken stump on the left, a new horn now grew. It was the mirror and opposite to the right horn, the dark to the light, a growth of black ice that rose further and further each day as she continued to master her newfound powers.

Sejuani reach down to grab her trusted, old helm, and let her thumbs rub across the unnatural cool of both horns, let it resonate with something deep beneath her sternum. She frowned for a moment, and then placed it back atop her head. For the first time in her life, it was not lopsided, the weight resting entirely on her right, but balanced. Equal.

And she, she was strong. Stronger for it. She stepped down from the dais.

When Volibear opened his jaw again to speak, she cut him off, already anticipating his words. “When the Watchers first came to the Freljord, to the Iceborn they taught two magics: true ice—which endured through the ages—and black ice, which was lost. I have assumed control of both. Harnessed both powers to my cause and my command. Strength to unite the Freljord, strength to push back even the greater darkness of the Watchers that would seek to end us all.”

She noted the bobbing of heads in fervent affirmation in her peripheral, but her attention was held fast by her old ally, awaiting his response.

“You cannot harness such power, Sejuani! Who has deluded your ego? Has drawn you in under honeyed lies to make you think yourself greater than—”

“Lies? Lies!?” She shouted, anger now rising in her. Who was he to say such things? And after his extended absence from her side? She had never lied, had never assumed anything greater than what she was. She was simply now coming into her true self, her true power. “I do not lie! I control these magics as I do my flail, my axe. No controls me or misleads me! I bring strength, bring balance, and if you think—”

“You cannot _think_ to control—”

“I _know_ what I control, Volibear!” She yelled. As if to prove her point, she threw her hand out, and frost bloomed from it at her slightest thought. “With each day I grow stronger! With each day I grow closer to conquering the last of the false queen’s lands, to achieving everything I was born to do. Do not tell _me_ what I can and cannot do. You speak in the absolutes of belief, but I show the truth of reality, and _this_ is the way forward. This is our salvation. Open your eyes to it!”

But Volibear jerked away from her outstretched hand, teeth bared. 

“The darkness will take you!” He roared, and lightning crackled around his fists, the storm-given powers that had made him chieftain of the ursine. “The Watchers will rise, will bring their dark upon the whole of the Freljord and Runeterra! And you will yet usher them in!”

He swung, the fury of the great northern storms in his strike, but Sejuani moved first, her body reacting with a speed and strength and reflex far greater than any simple human. For she was far, far more than a ‘simple’ human. She was the hand of destiny now, and would be undone by any.

In a second, Volibear had been _thrown_ away from her, crashing into the floor with a loud thud from which he did not immediately rise.

“How _dare_!”

Black frost crackled into life at Sejuani’s feet, fracturing the tiles beneath her boots and spidering outward. She took one step, then another, until she stood before her one-time friend and ally.

For once, she towered over him, and the rage of betrayal clouded her vision in red.

“How dare you raise your hand against mine...you, who sought me out those seasons ago. You who swore to combine your strength with mine, and now you turn on me and would strike me down in my own hall but a for a new weapon I have gained.”

Volibear rolled over, trying to fix her gaze as he wheezed the words out. “The...corruption…”

“I speak of balance, fool,” She snarled. “This is a weapon like any other. With true ice,” she paused, and the bright blue sheen came to life after a moment on her right fist, followed by the corresponding darkness on her left. “And with black ice, I will take the Freljord. And with the same power _I_ will bring the Freljord to greatness. _I_ will draw in the new age, and _I_ will unite us against the Watchers or whatever else would seek to engulf us. And if you do not stand with us…”

Fury made her tremble. Of all the scenarios she could have foreseen when Volibear returned to her, this...this of all things. None had ever _dared_ against her and lived. To have judged so quickly, to have raised a hand against her...

She turned her back, walking in unhurried, measured steps back toward her seat, coating the floor in ice. Only once she stood in front of her chair did she turn. Volibear had not yet moved, nor had any of her warriors, as if frozen by uncertainty of what their warlord might do next.

When the words left her lips, they seemed even to her to come from far away, as cold as the great northern glaciers themselves.

“Go home, Volibear, Chief of the Ursine. Your presence is no longer needed here.” She sat back down onto her chair, aware of every eye in the room focused on her. She had killed men for far less that striking out at her. It was only by what good will the fragile alliance had once given her that Sejuani now stayed her hand. When she spoke again, her voice was absolute. “Leave.”

The words echoed through the high-vaulted hall, and tense silence weighed down the air in the slow seconds that followed. Sejuani was aware...how aware she was of every single hand in the room already gripping a weapon. How they feared for what the great chief of the ursine might do next in a fit of wrath.

They feared, but Sejuani did not.

She waited, watched, as Volibear slowly, painfully picked himself up from the floor. Once he had fully righted himself, he stared at her, but his black eyes revealed nothing, and no lightning sparked into life at his claws.

For a moment, Sejuani was certain he would speak, but then he turned, limping slowly out of the hall and out of the great wooden doors from which he had come.

Only once did the doors close did the relief sweep the room.

“Warlord,” began one of her stellari, immediately at her side. “Such insolence! When he has not even been at your side, when he has not seen how you have led us, how your strength has only grown! Shall I—”

Sejuani interrupted before the thoughts could even be fully expressed. “Leave him. He will be allowed safe passage back to the north and his tribe...where he will stay.”

This, she knew with an unshakeable certainty. Volibear would not seek her out again.

“I will not have us waste neither time nor efforts on him. He was an ally...once. But that alliance is of no use to us anymore. We must remained focused on our true goal.”

That seemed to shake the strange haze that seemed to hang over the room, and abruptly the warriors who still lingered seemed to stand straighter, to recall something of themselves.

“We leave at first light tomorrow. We march to Rakelstake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whew this chapter was hard to write! I honestly struggled and rewrote the scene between Sejuani and Volibear several times, so I can only cross my fingers and hope that their splitting of ways is (FINGERS CROSSED). For those of you anxiously awaiting some real action, I can promise you that next chapter is going to be the true snowballing you've been waiting for, and I am so, so looking forward to it myself.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has continued to read and especially those who leave comments--it's a pleasure hearing your thoughts and perspectives :D


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'And Serylda's blood, run true at last, will seize the heart of the land. A single Freljord, a single tribe, conquered by a single hand.' - Oracle's words

If the way to Rakelstake started on a quieter note than typical for their campaigns thus far, Sejuani did not notice it. She sat straight-backed, perfectly perched atop Bristle, both of them resplendent: Bristle in his new and gleaming sheet armor, Sejuani in her usual but perfectly polished garments, two horns now finally and fully completing the top of her profile. Together they led the way forward down the old road into Frostguard territory, leaders of a once dying clan now turned into the mightiest in the whole of the Freljord. However, no one in the small army at her back dared to disturb her self-imposed solitude. The closest stellari kept careful pace back from her as the snowflakes began to fall from the gray and formless sky above. Even Olaf had said little to her since they had embarked from Avarosa, favoring trading banter with the warriors instead.

If he or anyone else thought anything of Sejuani’s last exchange of words with the leader of the ursine, then they had yet to voice such concerns to Sejuani. Which was fine with her.

Sejuani’s grip on Bristle’s leather reins tightened until her fingers ached from the pressure, and then she forced herself to relax. Nothing—no, _no one_ —would spoil the moment of triumph for her. She had poured everything that she was into getting to this point. Her sweat, her suffering, her blood...ten times over had she paid to come this far, starting oh so many years ago.

It was odd, for she had not thought of her long since dead brothers and parents in many, many years. The last of them had died before her tenth birthday, taken by a slow wound rot to the gut, wasting away before winter was even half passed. Sejuani had thought herself surely doomed then. She had been the ‘runt’ of the litter, smallest of her siblings, bony and thin as rail. If even the strongest of her brothers could not survive past twenty, how much longer would she be forced to bed each night with deep hunger gnawing at her gut...until the final sleep of death came for her too?

Then the oracle had visited, blind and decrepit, with a bag that clinked from the pieces of old bones held within. She had held Sejuani’s palm in a vice grip, reading the lines of her future and speaking of visions from within the ice. Even as the Winter’s Claw dwindled and withered to a small band of nomads, she had spoken words of destiny and fate. A prophecy for one of the last of Serylda’s dying line. A runt that would grow into the strongest of them, a child to become a warlord, a band of nomads to become crowned conquerors.

Even now, Sejuani felt something tug at her lips.

There were none who had believed such a bold prophecy—least of all the grizzled and impotent old warlord at the time. None except for the small, forgotten child the oracle had spoken to. Sejuani lived by those precious few words, took strength by them during the Bitterest Winter, surviving when others fell and died, succumbing to the hunger and sickness and cold. But she did more than just survive as she grew older, as she grew tall and strong and the fiercest among the...as she joined and then dominated the battle circle: she prospered. She ground herself down to nothing, and then built herself back up from all of the pain and suffering and adversity that would have destroyed her no differently than all those who came before her.

So when she had finally slain the old warlord, when she first sat at the head of the mead hall and proclaimed the start of a new dawn for her people, one that would see them rightfully take the Freljord, not a one had doubted the prophecy spoken by a blind oracle all those years before.

And why should any doubt her now?

Even when Ashe had proclaimed herself ‘Chosen’ and ‘Queen’, when she had called for the Winter’s Claw to bend knee to her, Sejuani had not yielded. The North was made of stronger stuff than the Avarosans had ever understood, and even against a foe with numbers and resources far greater than their own, the Winter’s Claw had persevered against all odds.

Now was but the final motion in slaying their proverbial giant.

Everything had led Sejuani, had led her people, to this moment. If others could not see the value in all they had sacrificed to get here...then they were worth neither her time nor efforts. Not now. Not when she was at the precipice of victory.

Sejuani exhaled slowly, focusing all her thoughts on what was to come. To let her mind dwell elsewhere was to do a disservice to herself. Now was not the time to think, to doubt; that would lead her only to falter. Now was was the time act, final and absolute. Once she claimed her right on the throne of the ancients, once Ashe was fully defeated, then she could have the luxury to think all she wanted.

But for now, she had to do as she was meant to.

She had to lead.

Bristle snorted beneath her, and she patted him absentmindedly with one leather-gloved hand.

“Easy…” she murmured.

It was a fine day to be crowned Queen of the Freljord.

She held the vision in her mind’s eye, a once distant yearning now so, so close to fruition. When she reached the city, the heart of the Freljord she had only ever heard tale of until now, the mighty gates would thrown open, banners of the twin axes of her people already raised across the castle. The Frostguard would be in formation to herald her way into the city, acknowledging not a false queen, but the one, tried and true _conqueror_. The only person worthy of taking the Freljord.

And in the original throne room of the kingdom, by a simple throne unclaimed for eons, Lissandra would be waiting for her. Iceborn and true ancestor, crown of ice in one hand, and Avarosa’s Chosen brought to heel in the other. Both awaiting Sejuani.

As the wind blew a stronger gust of snowflakes at her back, Sejuani concluded it was a fine day to claim victory indeed.

* * *

There was something...unsettling...about Rakelstake, and Ashe wondered if it had always been like this, even before. If maybe she had somehow missed it on her prior stays in the city, too distracted by all else that needed to be tended to. Alliances, marriages...she _had_ been heavily preoccupied in the past, but even so, this odd air of things had never so strongly stood out to her before.

But perhaps she was being unreasonable.

After all, it was the very difference in how much she had to do...or in this case how little. They had arrived in Rakelstake, even as Avarosa had fallen. Now that they were here, there was little else to actually be done. The city was still truly Princess Lissandra’s, and upon Ashe’s arrival she had immediately taken to ensuring everything was on high alert and defense—not as though it required much, what with the trolls Lissandra reported they had been battling. The towering walls that surrounded the densely populated city remained as stalwart as ever, and the great gate had opened only to allow Ashe and what people were with her through, before closing heavily behind them.

Now here, under the protection of a city that had never once been breached, there was little in the way required of Ashe, proclaimed Queen though she was. Lissandra still ran the operations of the city itself, and had reassured Ashe in what few, terse meeting they had had thus far that all was under control, and Ashe could simply relax and take her time to recover.

Which was the last thing she wanted to do.

How she hated it, feeling powerless, simply _waiting_. Waiting for Sejuani to arrive, waiting for the siege, waiting for winter to pass and spring to come. Waiting, waiting, waiting. For all of her famed patience and logic, it was driving Ashe mad. Princess Lissandra had been the paragon of hospitality, seeing to every last need that Ashe could think of and more, and with the dark, granite walls constantly bearing down on her—practically suffocating her—part of Ashe almost wished she was out in the cold with the bulk of her army that had made winter camp far to the south of the city in the mountains.

But that was selfish of her, and she knew it. She should be grateful for the shelter and refuge Lissandra had so unquestioningly given—despite the hardship that now faced them.

 _Sejuani_.

How soon she might arrive at Rakelstake was not clear. The last the scouts had reported to her and Lissandra, Sejuani had left from Rakelstake three days prior, leading a column of her finest warriors, at the forefront of their march atop Bristle, intent on bringing doom to them all.

How had it come to this?

But a season ago, Ashe had been certain. Oh, there was _never_ certainty when it came to her would-be rival in the Winter’s Claw, but still, Ashe had been certain of her vision. She had felt convinced that day by day her dream of a united, greater Freljord would soon enough become a reality, that eventually even the Winter’s Claw would have to see reason if not simply yield to the sheer _way_ of things. Yet in the space of a few short months, everything that Ashe had worked years to assemble had crumbled apart as surely as if some keystone had been pulled from beneath her feet.

Yet even now she could not pinpoint _how_. It almost was as though some invisible hand had played about the proverbial chessboard, suddenly pinning everything against Ashe...and everything for Sejuani, but still Ashe was none the wiser for it.

And rather than pursuing that dogged feeling in her gut, rather than _doing_ something about Sejuani, Ashe was stuck in what each morning was becoming more and more of a prison of stone.

She shuddered without meaning to.

“Ashe? Are you well?”

Tryndamere’s voice was only well-meaning concern, and Ashe waved down his worries, stopping her pacing to come back to the table where he sat at. She wet her lips, but it still took her a moment to find her words and confide in what truly troubled her.

“I…I cannot relax here.” She shook her head once as she sat down, glancing toward the closed door. Lissandra’s guardsmen stood on the other side, and though there was no reason to worry, Ashe still dropped her voice to the quietest of whispers. “I feel ill at ease, as though the stone itself is constantly watching me.”

A glance at her husband did not find the incredulity she had expected, but a pensive frown. Tryndamere, too, shot a troubled glance toward the door. “It is...not an easy thing, to have our hands so tied when we would wish otherwise. Lissandra offers every gesture of hospitality…” His words were what she had told herself every night before sleeping, every morning when she first awoke. “...but I feel much the same,” he admitted.

At the confession, one which she had already well suspected, Ashe let her head fall into her hands, desperately massaging her temples. It was to little avail. Even now, the great walls of Rakelstake felt oppressive rather than protective, and her head pounded from a headache that would not leave her.

“We have done as much as we can,” offered Trynd, and it was true. How she knew it was true.

She peaked her head up, just enough to look across the table—not at Tryndamere, but at the great egg of Anivia. Even with Lissandra’s generous offers to give the egg a new resting place within the castle, Ashe had refused to let the Cryophoenix egg from her sight, to a point of obstinance bordering on offense. Yet any residual feelings of guilt were just as quickly pushed aside in favor the insistent tugging deep in Ashe’s gut, the one that even now told her stronger than ever that she was meant to be _doing_ something.

The black veins at the bottom of Anivia’s egg had only grown larger, as if in mockery of all of Ashe had attempted to accomplish over the last few months.

As if she was yet to understand the true nature of the ‘darkness’ that they were all to face.

Anger, rare and sharp, suddenly flared into life beneath Ashe’s skin. She let her hands fall to the table, ceased cradling her face. She was a queen...she _had_ to be a queen, to be a leader. If she despaired now on all that she sought to build, on all that she had already sacrificed, then who would step up.

“Ashe?”

She would not go quietly into the waiting dark.

She turned toward Tryndamere, plans already taking form in her head. “We should meet with Princess Lissandra again. I know that she means well, but no good can come of us being locked away in the castle waiting for a siege to begin.”

Tryndamere leaned forward, bright eyes eager and attentive. “What do you think then? Sejuani might arrive any day now, any hour really.”

Ashe pursed her lips together, thinking, thinking. “Much of our army is dispersed to the south. If Sejuani did indeed split her forces, leave half at Avarosa, we could yet rout them. Send word to attack from the rear and through the mountains once Sejuani’s focus is set purely on the siege here. We could even use the tunnels if need be.”

Rakelstake was ancient, and already Ashe had learned of a multitude of passageways leading from the bowels of the castle into the mountains and deep caves. Princess Lissandra had them all currently sealed, had told Ashe that they led into troll caves and unknown reaches too dangerous to be explored, but Ashe was not yet convinced. If they could use the network of tunnels out from Rakelstake, perhaps they could even stage raids and harassing skirmishes against Sejuani, much as the Winter’s Claw had done to them before.

Tryndamere nodded as Ashe continued.

“Yes, we should send a missive to the southern encampment, tell them to be ready for orders to move out. And in the meantime we cannot lose sight of the greater threat.” She looked at the egg again. “I cannot forget that this goes beyond any of us, even Sej. Rakelstake boasts the oldest archives in the whole of the Freljord. I will go there myself today, begin looking through the records on the Watchers, on the olden days...anything that may yet give us a hint about the true nature of what we face behind the guise of war. We must—”

Ashe stopped abruptly as Tryndamere raised a hand, urging her to silence. She opened her mouth to question, but then held her tongue as he pointed to the door, his brow dark and drawn down.

There. So quiet as to be passed over, were the faint, and final sounds of a scuffle barely echoing through the thick, iron-bound door. Ashe froze. It was quick, almost easy to miss if she hadn’t been so focused on it now: the muffled thump of one body hitting the ground—the first Frostguard on watch just outside—and then the second. Both of their guards incapacitated.

Any thoughts of making a plan were quickly cast aside when the door flew open, nearly bouncing off the hinges for the haste with which it was opened.

“Majesties!”

Quinn burst through, gasping heavily. Her face was unnaturally pale. Sweat poured from her brow, and her eyes were wide with near panic. Valor flapped behind her in the hallway.

Ashe stood immediately, her bow crystallizing into her hand before she had even realized it. Likewise, Tryndamere was at her size, beastly sword already in hand and veins cording out in anticipation of violence.

“Quinn, what is it?”

The scout sucked in a breath, words tumbling out in fearful desperation. “No time! We must go _now_ while your loyal soldiers here still cover your way, we can use one of the cavernous escapes through the mountains—”

“ _Quinn! What do you_ —”

 “The gates are opened to greet the Winter’s Wrath! Ashe— _you have been betrayed_!”

* * *

Sejuani sat on the black granite throne carved by her ancestors as if born for that singular purpose, a shining crown of true ice suspended between the twin light and dark horns of her helm, the final testament to her destiny at last fulfilled.

Her campaign was complete, her unification realized. For the first time since the end of the Watchers and the splitting of the Three Sisters, the Freljord was at last one, and she had brought it there. She had conquered it, had molded it together by sheer strength of will, of might. She had finally proven, beyond any last lingering doubts, the true and final legacy of Serylda.

Already her name was being recorded in the annals of history, carved into stone and sung over bonfires.

Her purpose was fulfilled, though not yet finished.

Not quite yet.

One of Lissandra’s blue-tinged hands reached around from the stone back of her throne. It rested on her shoulder pauldron, while the other splayed out across her chest armor, fingertips just barely touching the skin of her neck before moving lazily down her sternum, over her chestplate and toward her abdomen, running possessively over Sejuani’s otherwise statuesque form in a way that no other would dare.

Sejuani tolerated it, for she couldn’t be bothered to care.

“You’ve done it,” whispered Lissandra in her ear, lips close enough to tickle the wayward strands of hair there. “My Conqueror.”

Sejuani gave a short grunt, turning her head ever so slightly away from the ice-cold touch that now began to draw patterns up the side of her neck, cupping her jaw and cheek. Her voice was harder than true ice when she spoke. “You are surprised?”

“Only with how quickly you brought all the tribes to heel beneath your banner. You’ve fulfilled your destiny admirably.”

A thumb caressed the prominent scar along her cheekbone, but Sejuani ignored it, simply waiting for Lissandra to continue, for she could sense there was more yet to be said. After a long moment, Lissandra finally pulled back.

“I have something I would like to show you, great Ruler of the Freljord.”

“Unless it is Ashe I have little interest in sightseeing Rakelstake right now. I assume you have yet to locate her after she escaped.”

It was not a question, and cold fury over the fact that Ashe had evaded her yet again still burned in Sejuani’s breast.

Lissandra’s smile froze, twisting in a frown before it could be fully smoothed away, equally indicative of how much Ashe’s doggedness vexed the Iceborn as well. As it should. Ashe and her husband had escaped from _Lissandra’s_ city after all. After a few moments, Lissandra seemed to regain herself, though.

“Ashe cannot hide forever,” she assured in a placating tone. “The Freljord is yours, and soon enough even the rocks themselves will not give her refuge. Soon enough she will kneel for you. Is that not what you desire? Now come, I wish to show you something. The time is right for this, I believe.”

Sejuani paused—there was a note of _something_ in Lissandra’s voice, almost like yearning—then inclined her head in one short, sharp nod of acquiescence. She rose, leathers creaking and groaning, to follow Lissandra out of the throne room, eyes of the silent, ever-watching Frostguards on her back the entire way. It unnerved her slightly, though she was loathe to admit it, the odd way the Frostguard seemed to watch her at all times. She frowned, suddenly wondering when her own warriors of the Winter’s Claw had had their watch in throne room replaced over the course of the day.

Lissandra led a weaving path through the halls of the castle, almost too complex to remember, and Sejuani spoke as she followed. “How are my men and women faring? I have seen few of them in the castle as we walk.”

“Most of them are marching south now, preparing to fight the Noxian army that is soon to move against Rakelstake.”

Sejuani stopped short, anger easily flaring to life in her blood. “I did not yet give the orders for an army to move out!”

Lissandra turned, seemingly unaffected by having upset her sovereign. “You have been busy assuming your new throne, Sejuani. Laying claim to your destiny. I merely did as I knew you would desire, as I did not wish to bother you with trivialities.”

“You assume too much,” murmured Sejuani, but at the same time, a coolness flowed out from her chest, easing the anger that had come over her. For she would have given the same command, would she have not? Still…

“Do not presume to give orders without my word in the future,” She muttered around gritted teeth.

Lissandra inclined her head once before turning back around and continuing down whatever path they were going. “As you say.”

After a pause, Sejuani followed. They ducked into a long, narrow passageway with a winding set of stairs that led up, up, up. How long they climbed, Sejuani was unsure, until at last Lissandra opened an old, rune-carved stone door, and the blast of icy wind that greeted them told all.

Sejuani stepped out onto one of the steep mountainsides of the Ironspikes range, overlooking the whole of the city of Rakelstake and the ancient castle that had been built into its base below. She took another step forward, rare awe taking her for a moment at the true bird’s eye view. As if to punctuate the thought, one flew overhead.

Lissandra’s voice interrupted her musings. “The rulers of old liked to look out over their lands, over the Freljord, to know the vastness of what they possessed, and to see it for what it was.” Her voice took on a faraway, dreamlike quality. “It is done now. Now, finally...after ten thousand years of waiting, it is done, the War of Three Sisters finally ended...and all thanks to you. Is that not something?”

Lissandra turned from the ridge, approaching Sejuani, closer, closer, until she was scant inches away, Sejuani’s breath puffing up as clouds of steam between them. It was disconcerting, even now, being unable to make any sort of eye contact with Lissandra, to discern even the faintest reason behind the small, almost knowing smile that played across her blue lips. Still, Sejuani held her gaze on Lissandra, silently refusing to be the first to back down, tilting her chin up to stare at solid material of the helm that covered where Lissandra’s eyes should otherwise be.

“Oh, Sejuani…”

Lissandra leaned in with soft chuckle, and then ever so gently brushed her cool lips to Sejuani’s, briefly stunning her.

_What..._

“You’ve been such a good tool.”

Sejuani grunted, trying, and failing, to suck in a breath, even as her eyes went wide with the shock of pain that accompanied those words.

She was on the ground, impaled to the mountain by the great icicle of black ice that had torn through her right chest and lung alike, pinning her helplessly in place. She coughed, splattering blood and igniting her vision white with agony.

When her vision cleared enough, Lissandra still loomed over her, smiling easily.

_Lissandra...why…_

Her lips tried to form the words, but her throat produced no sound to give voice to her outrage, her betrayal.

Lissandra finally crouched down, but only to touch her hand over Sejuani’s heart, slowly pulling out literal shards of that powerful magic she had ‘given’ to Sejuani so many months earlier, conducting a symphony of pain that ran through Sejuani from head to toe.

“Let me tell you a story, my foolish, foolish heir to Serylda. Once, a great, great many millennia ago, when the glaciers reached as far down as Kumungu, when the idea of a desert empire called Shurima was laughable, there lived three sisters: Serylda, Avarosa, and Lissandra.”

It was a story that every man, woman, and child had heard, but still Lissandra continued.

“Humanity lived as slovenly, pathetic pigs then, not far different from today. But then the Watchers emerged. From the darkest crevasses of the ice they came, and with them, they brought change. They brought knowledge. They brought opportunity. And Lissandra was the first to make peace with these great titans of power. They rewarded her for it, banished the thought of death from famine or plague or age, and granted her power over the ice itself. And in her footsteps, her sisters followed, the people followed, becoming the Iceborn.”

The pain. The pain was so encompassing, worse than any Sejuani had known before on the battlefield. Tears welled up from her eyes and slid down her cheeks, but she could not even feel shame at it. She simply had to make it stop, do something. Anything.

Her right arm shook and her vision twisted wildly for the effort of trying to bring her hand to her chest, to the massive spear of black ice that stuck her to the ground. But still she gritted her teeth, drawing on the last reserves of her strength to steel the resolve and do what was needed.

Yet as soon as her fingertips brushed the impaled crystal, her muscles seized, caught in an agonizing paralysis born of terrifying, arcane cold. She made a strangled noise of pain, and only then did Lissandra bat her hand away, leaving Sejuani’s useless fingers to twitch against the icy crust of snow as she continued her story, unfazed. Her recollection now took a different turn from tales of history Sejuani had learned by the bonfires.

“But Serylda and Avarosa grew greedy. They were not content. The Watchers had given them power and knowledge, magic and strength, and all that they asked for in return was simple, simple obedience. Loyalty. Lissandra saw the wisdom in this, but her sisters were rebellious, intent to turn on the benevolence the Watchers had shown, and they rallied the Iceborn under their misguided banner of revolution. They incited war, attacking the Watchers when least expected, drawing even the ursine to their cause. And on the bridge of the Howling Abyss, they cast their very masters into the Abyss, declaring victory and the death of Lissandra and the Watchers alike.

“Of course, Serylda and Avarosa both succumbed to their wounds not long after, and their followers continued the strife of war, each side eager to rule over the empire that rightfully belonged to none of them. The Iceborn all died out, but for one. One who lived through it all. One who recovered her strength over the centuries even as the ice receded. I lived, and I remembered. And as my sisters’ spawn forgot the tale of their ancestry over the millennia, I made certain to replace history as my own, to enshrine Lissandra alongside Serylda and Avarosa as a venerated Iceborn, to draw the Frostguard to my cause. And I waited. Waited patiently for the day the stars would align and all the tools would be at hand to seize the Freljord again. To be ready to bring back the Watchers from the deep.”

Sejuani opened her mouth in a silent scream as Lissandra finished both tale and process, sucking out the last of the black ice magic in a motion that felt like countless knives being viciously twisted in her flesh. Yet all that she managed was a low and liquid gurgle against the rising blood in her throat.

Lissandra chuckled, first wiping the tears from Sejuani’s cheeks before drawing her thumb against Sejuani’s lower lip, and smiling widely. The true ice crown that Sejuani had worn but moments earlier now hovered atop Lissandra’s head.

“You were a far better tool than I could have ever hoped for in my wildest dreams, Sejuani. But you’ve outlived your usefulness now. A true pity you won’t see the glory that is the return of the Watchers, but I’m afraid I can’t suffer you to live anymore. Don’t worry—I’ll be certain to deal with Avarosa’s Chosen in your stead.”

And with that, Lissandra left her to stare up in heavy gray snow clouds overhead, alone to bleed out on the mountainside.

Her last reward for the one-time conqueror of the Freljord.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. It finally happened. As many of you had spoken about in your comments, everything finally caught up with Sejuani, and now she's paid the price. And now I get to start writing the real fun stuff! Going to be a wild ride from here on out, that much I can promise ;)
> 
> As always, I absolutely love hearing from you in the comments, whether it's just your general thoughts or even some well placed criticisms (I do live in my authorial little bubble and sometimes you guys think of things I'd never even considered before!). Thank you to everyone who has, and I really hope you continue to read!
> 
> Additionally, please do check out some of [Suqling's](http://suqling.tumblr.com) art, as some of her sketches and paintings from some time ago were the original inspiration for a lot of these scenes in this chapter and, indeed, the entire story of Everwinter thus far. In particular I recommend [this](http://suqling.tumblr.com/post/78030072740/black-frost-sejuani-or-more-like-just-half-of), [this](http://suqling.tumblr.com/post/77688410290/wip-i-think-its-the-biggest-canvas-ive-worked), and [this](http://suqling.tumblr.com/post/73334054232/theres-been-an-influx-of-followers-all-of-a). Poor Sejuani. Also fun fact that first art link is my desktop background. Because WORTH.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the single greatest coup in history, Lissandra now controls the whole of the Freljord, awaiting the Longest Night when she can summon back her only masters from the Abyss. All that stands against her is the tattered remains of Ashe’s once great alliance...and what may remain of the Winter’s Claw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally putting the next chapter up! I apologize to everyone for the delay--I had some personal issues come up right after the last post that unfortunately really killed my writing muse for a while. But never fear! I'm back at it. Thank you all for reading and especially those of you who left comments. I can't say enough how much I love hearing your perspectives and thoughts. Now without further ado, here is chapter 8!

Cold.

Cold like she had never known, cold that sucked all heat from her, yet different from any blizzard she had been caught in before. It came from within her chest rather than from outside, as though the Gelid Vortex had taken residence within her breast, a gaping void that robbed her of her very heat of life.

Voices occasionally swirled within the vortex, bleeding in and out of her hearing, caught in the howling wind within her skull.

“...hypother…”

“...just won’t seem to take. Temperature keeps dropping.”

“...can’t!”

“...more wood on the fire...more blankets…”

Feathers. Wing beats. The sound of water roaring in her ears.

But always the cold.

“...slipping…”

Maybe someone was holding her, but maybe not.

“Don’t you dare die on me, you thrice-damned, obstinate woman!”

She wanted to frown at the expletive for some reason. As though it seemed out of place from the speaker. Why?

She prayed for a death that would not come, for a final reprieve that the heavens refused to grant her.

_...warlord...conqueror...betrayer…_

_Traitor to her own._

She opened her mouth to argue. She was _not_ that, never that. But she was given no words with which to speak, her tongue dead in her mouth, and the harder she fought to protest, the more the darkness seemed to squeeze her. Ice gripping her chest, stabbing her heart, robbing her breath. The black ice was consuming her at last, and she no longer had the strength to fight it.

Sejuani gave in.

It took too much effort to open her eyes, nearly crusted shut from the grime of long sleep, sleep that gave no rest. Yet there was no small measure of relief for Sejuani to open her eyes to the normal and familiar light of a fire, telltale smoke and crackling of embers giving testament to what her senses already perceived.

Her body, though, was slower to respond to waking than mind. Her heart thudded sluggishly in her ears, the first true evidence of her body’s own stubborn desire to cling to survival against all odds.

Her breath rasped slowly through her throat and nostrils, and she became aware of deep, deep thirst on her parched lips. Finally her eyelids struggled open, and Sejuani took in her surroundings from the sleeping pallet in which she lay, immobilized. 

She was in a tent of some sort, the hardy, thick walled kind that her own people had used for centuries as nomads, though this one was far larger and more luxurious a tent than she would have ever used during her own trips. Thick fur pelts and carpets were layered across the floor and tent ‘walls’, providing even more insulation from the ever permeating cold that was the Freljord. She did not recognize this tent, though.

A hearty fire blazed in the center, smoke exiting smoothly through the special venting chimney designed into the roof, yet even with the thick furs and burning tinder, Sejuani felt none of the heat that she knew it produced.

She was freezing, though her body seemed incapable of mustering even the faintest shiver in response. Even though thick furs were piled over her.

The dreams...the darkness...the mountainside. The memories mixed with delirium crashed in her conscious perception, and she jerked her hand from beneath the blankets toward her right collar where she knew the injury must lay.

Yet even so simple a motion from her off hand set off lightning, ripping through the numbness that had been her body up until that moment. Pain, cutting and sharp and more _real_ than any hallucinatory memory, stabbed from her chest, and a garbled noise escaped her throat before she could even think to catch and stifle it. A whimper. An echoing and pathetic beg that called tears to the corners of her eyes and brought the shadow touch of of Lissandra’s hand wiping them away back to the forefront of her mind.

Shudders were still rocking through her when her conscious mind was able to ground itself in the present again, and she had to blink rapidly. She had only just regained some measure of herself when there was a loud rustling at the flap that served as the entry to the tent. A moment later and two Avarosan guards entered, sparing only a glance at Sejuani.

The guards then stepped aside, holding the tent flap open as a veritable entourage filed in, making what was a sizeable tent suddenly feel crowded. Behind the guards followed a woman clearly not from the Freljord, red hair peeking out from beneath her fur helmet, her eyes sharp and almost jumpy. But behind her was more than a familiar face. Udyr walked in, looking as bear-ish as usual and Sejuani nearly jerked upright before catching herself.

Someone she knew. A friend who could vouch for her. At least…

Her thoughts, traitorous as ever, suddenly called to mind the last meeting she had shared with Volibear, and her heart dropped, and then dropped even further when she noted how impassive Udyr’s face was, how he was yet to meet her eyes. Had he...what if…

The inner turmoil was abruptly cut short when Tryndamere, as towering and massive as ever, entered next. And of course— _of course_ —last but the furthest from least, entered Ashe. No crown adorned her brow anymore, no gold-threaded silks worthy of her court. She wore practical leathers, archers bracers, and furs, and a simple dagger was visible at her belt.

She was easily the smallest of the tent’s current inhabitants, and yet she commanded the attention of everyone in the room...and _her_ attention was fixed firmly on Sejuani, her piercing gaze seizing Sejuani’s with an invisible grip that Sejuani found herself unable to break.

Ashe stepped up calmly and confidently, until she hovered but a bare few feet from Sejuani and the pallet.

“So you have wakened at last then.” Ashe broke the silence first, continuing on before Sejuani could even think to use her tongue. “It’s been six days since you were rescued from the mountainside near Rakelstake, and you’ve been unconscious for the better portion of it. You are currently in the Avarason encampment by the western reaches of the Ironspike foothills.”

Sejuani’s mind began to stir to life, a buzz of questions already drawing to the forefront, but only one, glaring query reaching her lips.

“Why…” her voice was a hoarse croak of disuse, her throat pained and scratched as if she had swallowed brambled thistles. “Why am I alive? I should be _dead_.”

She didn’t miss the nervous glances exchanged at the way her voice cracked and broke uncharacteristically.

“Sejuani…” began Ashe, and Sejuani gritted her teeth and tried not to flinch at all of the pitying sympathy that was there. That was always there.

“I shouldn’t be alive!” She roared. Or tried to.

The effort of raising her voice and drawing so deep a breath sent her into a hacking fit of coughs, stars exploding behind her eyes as pain, sharp and severe, radiated outward from her chest. She couldn’t stop, couldn’t even think to call out with her voice, until Ashe had closed the distance, a cup of something suddenly in her hands which she pushed toward Sejuani.

“Drink it,” murmured Ashe, and when Sejuani hesitated, her blue eyes suddenly flashed with unbending steel, her tone brooking no room for argument. “Drink it, Sejuani.”

Whatever protests Sejuani might have thought to give, vocal or silent, pathetically withered away, and she accepted the cup. Whatever tea or potion in it was predictably vile, but as soon as the steaming mixture slid down her throat, the worst of the pain eased, and her lungs stopped trying to seize up.

When Ashe spoke again, though, the emotion was hidden in her voice, as impassive as the young leader had ever been. “Whatever fate is written in the ice or the stars has clearly deemed you should still be alive. So here you are.”

But still…

Sejuani forced herself to swallow the last of what tea was in her cup, ensuring no more mishaps from her aching chest.

“But how?”

Ashe glanced aside and gestured with one hand toward the odd woman and massive bird that now perched on a table.

“Quinn and Valor found you. They were scouting for reconnaissance when Valor spotted you on the mountainside.”

She stepped aside, and the woman—Quinn—stepped forward, her bird giving a loud squawk and flapping his wings once.

“You...you were almost gone by the time we got to you. Valor saw you from overhead, alerted me.” The scout spoke in the slow, measured tones of a woman who used words only as necessary. “I think if you hadn’t been in the snow, if the cold hadn’t slowed down the bleeding, you wouldn’t be here now. As it was, you were barely still in this world.”

_Cold against her cheek on the crust of ice, cold from where she bled, cold from the makeshift spear of ice that pinned her like a bug to the face of the Ironspikes._

Which begged another sort of question.

“How...how did you remove it?” Sejuani’s fingers moved to ghost over the heavy bandages that covered what should have been her death wound. There was no need to clarify what ‘it’ was. “I tried to, but…”

Her fingers twitched, entire body caught in a brief moment of phantom pain that robbed her of breath from the mere memory.

There was a growl similar to a bear awakening from winter sleep, and everyone turned to Udyr. The Spiritwalker’s eyes were heavy and half-lidded, as if sleepy, and yet his dark pupils burned with an inner fire.

“I went with Quinn to find you, and used the Phoenix forms taught to me in Ionia to counter the black ice, though it was a near call.” He shrugged, folding his massive arms across his mostly bare chest again. “Then we carried you back to camp. And the rest is the healer’s work.”

Udyr nodded his head back, pointing toward the ‘healer’ who must have entered with Ashe, and was too busied with his own arts by the fire to add anything to the conversation.

So then. That explained her, but what of…

“What of...what of my people? What of the Winter’s Claw? Of my warriors? Of Olaf? Of Bristle? Of—”

“Easy,” urged Ashe, and for a moment Sejuani recognized the reflected understanding of a leader who, too, knew the pain of losing her own.

“Sejuani...many...many were unable to escape Rakelstake.” She suddenly rushed on to say more, though, trying to reassure. “Some did though, and many were in the army sent southwest to confront Noxus. Olaf and Bristle are both alive and safe, but they went with a contingent we sent to scout for that army. We have yet to receive any word on the status of the Western front closer to Avarosa and the Noxians, but they should be returning or sending word any day now.”

For the first time since her solitude had been broken, Sejuani let herself lay back into her pillow, mind racing as she tried to process everything. Everything that had happened, that was happening even now.

She had to ask. She needed to.

“Then Lissandra…”

“Treachery.” It may as well have been the snarl from a great cave beast for the way it rumbled out of Udyr’s throat, the way his eyes flashed and seemed to shimmer gold. “The Ice Witch has revealed herself at last.

Sejuani flinched without meaning to, looking down. Her stomach churned, not from the unholy brew meant to aid her recovery, but from an emotion she had not known in nearly a score of years. Shame, hot and sickening, flooded through her, choking at the throat, clawing at her guts, and not for the first time since waking, the loud thought echoed through Sejuani’s mind:

Why had she been afforded life...when she should have been cast aside in death?

Just how many had died because of her, had been slaughtered _for_ her, because of her own foolhardy blindness to see what was right in front of her face the entire time?

“Treachery or no, it cannot change what we do. What we need to do.” Ashe’s voice cut through the heavy air, sharper than a blade, startling Sejuani from her depressive cloud of ruminations.

Sejuani wanted to ask. More than anything she wanted to know, almost ached to know what machinations gave such strength of mind and resilience to Ashe, even now. But though her tongue tentatively wetted her lips, she could not bring her voice to life. For once, could not dare to question her old rival and enemy for all that her curiosity had been piqued.

What a warlord had she become indeed. 

However, almost as if sensing the questions hanging about her, Ashe seemed to catch herself, shaking her head just the slightest bit. “Now is not the time or place to discuss these details, though. I meant only to check on Sejuani now that she has awakened. And Sejuani will still need her rest, particularly if we intend to move camp again as planned in several days’ time.

Any hint of conversation immediately faded, and there were a series of bows and nods from across the room.

Sejuani wanted to protest, to proclaim the she was well enough, but already people were filing out, Udyr nodding once in her direction before she could even think to call out to him. Tryndamere, the scout, and guards followed, leaving behind a chill and quiet kind of emptiness. Leaving behind only Ashe, whose attention was still pinned rather firmly on Sejuani.

“Ashe…” Sejuani began, but Ashe stepped in close, and her words failed her.

“We will speak more. But right now is _not_ the time. I need to know what things you know, but it must wait.” She turned, and Sejuani realized that one other person had stayed in the tent, the healer. The elderly man still remained by the fire, putting together something that reeked of herbs and oils. “You will update me on the status of her wound?”

The healer bowed even as he now stood, hands filled with bandages and poultices. “Of course, my lady.”

Ashe’s gaze flickered with uncertainty for a moment, dropping down toward Sejuani’s collar, toward where the bandages peaked out against bare skin, and for a moment her mouth opened, something seemingly fragile and tremulous hanging on the tip of her tongue.

But then she straightened, whatever evidence of that internal conflict now smoothed away from her face. Her blue eyes, from which Sejuani remembered being able to readily detect whatever blazing emotion they leaked out, were once again calm and impassive.

Ashe turned to the healer with a brisk nod. “If anything changes let me know.” She turned to Sejuani one last time before exiting the tent. “Get rest. We will speak again soon when more of your strength is up.”

Then the heavy flap of canvas fell behind her, leaving Sejuani alone but for the healer as her bandages were undone.

* * *

Soon wasn’t until the following evening.

Which perhaps was for the best, considering Sejuani had slept most of the night and the following day since she had first awoken.

Her chest still ached something terrible, and it seemed far more sluggish to recover than any normal wound should given the amount of sophisticated potions she had been treated with, so she was somewhat surprised to wake this time with the deep gnawing of hunger present in her belly.

And despite her dark and ruminating thoughts, her stomach could not resist the bowl of thick hunter’s stew that was brought to her by a guard.

She was just finished sopping up the last bits of it with a piece of hard bread when the flap to her tent reopened. Udyr inclined his head once and then entered, and behind him...

“Olaf!” Sejuani scrambled to her feet, off the edge of her sleeping pallet and dashing forward, pushing aside the tugging pain from her black ice wound.

Her old advisor and friend stepped in from the harsh cold, shrugging off a layer of flurries before opening his great arms wide and enveloping Sejuani in a deep hug, though one that seemed knowingly careful not to press unduly against her right shoulder.

When they parted, Sejuani still clasped his arm for a long moment, eyes searching. “You are well then? They said you escaped from Rakelstake but—”

Olaf wiped the bits of ice and snow that were still caught in his beard, something that looked suspiciously like moisture gathering in his eyes. “Aye, none of that now. That traitorous ice bitch would have skewered us all if she could...er...sorry, not the best analogy.”

Sejuani brushed it aside, not caring. Her mind was already elsewhere. “If you are back...what of Bristle? What of our warriors? Ashe said that—”

“Speaking of which…” Udyr’s low tenor interrupted politely. “We were sent to fetch you. For a formal meeting. To discuss these things.”

“Ah, right that.” Olaf looked away, and Sejuani felt the first chewings of worry tug at her full stomach. “You can see that old fat hog of yours afterward, though, eh? By the way, he stinks.”

“He’s a Frost Boar!” she responded automatically, not that Olaf had ever understood the majesty of a creature like Bristle. He simply shrugged it off again, leading the way outside but still pointedly avoiding the other question Sejuani had asked.

“Come,” instructed Udyr.

However, when Sejuani moved toward the exit flap of the tent, she was just as quickly halted again.

“Sejuani.”

Udyr’s paw-like hand suddenly weighed down on her good shoulder, and Sejuani froze in place.

She was by no means a small woman. Indeed, even in her tribe, Sejuani had been taller than many men, had been renowned for height and her strength. Udyr was no small man either, and there had always been a certain _aura_ about the Spiritwalker. Something more than just human. Yet never had Sejuani felt so small before him before.

His fingers tightened on her shoulder, squeezing, and crows feet seemed to grow at the corners of his eyes.

“It means everything to me that you are alive and still whole.”

Sejuani fumbled for her words. “Udyr...but I…”

He gave her no time to answer, though, urging her out of the tent, his face uncharacteristically soft for once.

“Come. We have a meeting to attend.”

Sejuani paused for a moment, then found her feet again, following both he and Olaf into the outside world.

The first strike of the air against her face froze the inside of her nostrils, an old sensation Sejuani was more than accustomed to, but far too early for such cold this early in the year, and this far south.

She took in a deep breath, and then the unexpected happened.

The cold took root deep in her chest, latching onto a spot beneath her breast, beneath the grievous wound which even with all of the healer’s potions and poultices was too slow to heal.

She had no time to even prepare herself. She was suddenly hunched over, hands desperately cradling her chest at a hacking cough racked through her body, alighting a cold, burning, and merciless pain from deep within her center. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t straighten.

Then something was being shoved at her.

“Here!” Olaf handed over an open wineskin, heavy and sloshing with full contents.

Sejuani’s hand seized around the neck before she caught herself, pausing and wheezing for breath, trying to fight back whatever black magic still clawed at her wound. When she hesitated, Olaf urged the wineskin up toward her lips.

“Drink it. A good proper brew from one of Gragas’s casks will put the fire back in your belly, and you need it.”

She hesitated only a moment longer, breath continuing to constrict in her lungs, and then tilted the contents back and into her mouth. It was neither the mead nor wine Sejuani expected, but the burning, biting clear liquor from Gragas’s special stashes that could near about wake the dead from their sleep. It left a trail of unseen fire from Sejuani’s tongue down into her belly, burning outward from wherever it touched.

She yanked the wineskin back from her lips, drawing in a deep gasp of the cold air, eyes blinking. And yet, the burning beat away the invisible squeezing in her lungs, and her cough held back.

Olaf rewarded her with a firm slap onto her back and a chortle, recorking the wineskin as he took it from her. “See? Just as good as any damn healer’s brew.”

Something she doubted any self-respecting healer would agree with, but she was not about to complain with the effectiveness of Olaf’s method. Sejuani was able to finally straighten, wiping her lips with the back of her hand as she nodded once.

“Let’s go then.”

The crossed through the camp with relative ease, though Sejuani was aware of more than a fair share of Avarosan and barbarian eyes watching her.

Where were her own people?

Twilight was fast falling, yes, but her eyesight had always been keen. Why could she not see any of her own?

There was little time to ponder on it, though. And even with Gragas’ spirits keeping her lungs at ease, Sejuani was too wary to dare opening her mouth and testing her voice in the harsh winter air again.

It did not take them long to get to their destination.

Four soldiers, in the full and glittering regalia of royal guards, stood stoically outside the entrance to what was not in fact a tent, but a great canvassed covering that served as a makeshift door into a cliffside cave.

The way was opened to them after a moment, and then Sejuani entered. The “room” they were using for the meeting was already mostly filled, seats taken up around a small fire pit by all the same faces that had visited her before in her recovery tent, and then some. Captains and generals from Ashe’s and Tryndamere’s armies, presumably. There were drinks and plates of food spread out, as well as maps and markers.

What conversation had been buzzing along died as soon Sejuani stepped in, though.

“Please take a seat,” instructed Ashe, standing even as she gestured toward empty spaces for the three of them.

Sejuani moved slowly, equally as aware of how she watched even in here much the same as she was outside. Too many years of training told her she could not afford to show weakness. Not in front of people she had treated as enemies for so long. She took in her surroundings as she made her way to one of the chairs.

Much the same as in her own tent, she logically _knew_ the temperatures had to be far warmer in the cave (those already seated there had discarded their cloaks and heavy furs), yet she felt no distinguishable difference. Just...cold. All throughout her.

She shrugged and finally took one of the empty seats, removing her own cloak though it made no difference.

Only once she was sitting did Ashe approach, proffering a ceramic cup to Sejuani that could only be holding one thing.

Sejuani sighed but took the large mug without complaint, trying not make a face at the pungent herbal scent that rose from the healing potion within it.

If any in the room thought anything of the one-time Queen of the Freljord handing her defeated one-time warlord rival a healing brew, they said or showed nothing of it. All attention was focused on Ashe when she walked calmly back to her own seat, speaking.

“Now that we are all here, we can convene properly. Consider this meeting to address the current state of affairs such that we can prepare for appropriate action going forward. You are all here because your input, experience, and thoughts will be vitally needed for determining what we do from here on out. But to start business first, it bears repeating that Olaf returned this morning from the Avarosan heartlands with the troops we sent alongside him. They have all returned hale and well, and  with remnant Winter’s Claw forces at his side willing to join with our cause.”

“How many?”

The curt question was voiced by one of the barbarian captains, and Ashe could not fully hide the wince from her face. Her voice was slower than it should have been, and Sejuani felt ice claw within her sternum at the response.

“Approximately half of what we expected. The survivors...the survivors recounted details of black ice magic called down upon them and Noxian forces alike. Men and beasts frozen solid where they stood, pillars of ice summoned up from the ground…and then the trolls arrived.”

Tryndamere cleared his throat to add on. “Those that fought and survived until our force arrived are with us now and being housed and treated and fed for full recovery. As for the Noxian force, it was completely decimated. It is no longer a threat.”

Sejuani’s heartbeat thudded in her ears, and she calculated just _how many_ good men and women she must have lost. Warriors who didn’t deserve to lose their lives in a massacre like that…

“At least we don’t have to worry about the Noxians, then.”

There was a heavy pause, and the great Demacian eagle, Valor, gave a squawk until Quinn petted his beak gently.

“Indeed there is that, at least,” she murmured.

Ashe cleared her throat, and then continued, only the momentary waver in her voice betraying her feelings.

“So then, let us look at the state of things as our scouts have been able to inform us. Lissandra has Rakelstake under lock and key. Frostguard soldiers and trolls alike prowl the ramparts, and the passes grow only deeper with early snow and ice. The Frostguard themselves have suffered almost no casualties to speak of while the Winter’s Claw and the Avarosa were still at war, and now I believe we can safely say they are allied with the trolls...and who knows what other unsavory creatures from the darker crevasses of the Freljord that Lissandra has brought back into daylight. Meanwhile our own forces have been decimated compared to what they were even just a season ago...both Avarosan and Winter’s Claw.” Ashe stopped only long enough to look around the room, to focus her gaze on each and every person. “The odds are stacked against us, I am very aware of this, believe me. If we are to determine what we need to do, how long we need to hole up and wait or where, it is vital that we have as much information as possible to make that informed decision.”

Finally, she turned last toward Sejuani, who found no escape or solace in the foul-tasting potion.

“We were all alike betrayed by the person known as Lissandra, though under different guises. It shames me that I only knew her as Princess Lissandra, that I was so willing to believe in her good will and not look beneath the surface at inconsistencies that now so clearly show themselves. But all of us were so misled. What we need now is to know just what we are up against. Sejuani...we need to know what _you_ know.”

Every last set of eyes turned to focus on her, and for the first time in many, many years, Sejuani wanted to squirm under the attention.

“I..” She paused to wet her lips, gaze darting about. “What exactly...do you want?”

Ashe’s bright eyes caught and held hers, providing no escape from what she knew the answer would be.

“Everything.”

She closed her eyes for a long moment, only opening them to stare into the fire when Olaf leaned over to nudge the wineskin back into her numb hands.

The sloshing weight of it grounded her, and Ashe made no sound of protest when Sejuani first chose to drink from the contents before speaking.

“It...it truly starts years ago then. When the blind Wand-Witch from the northern wastes first visited us that year before the Bitterest Winter. Except that though we knew not then, she was not the oracle she appeared to be…”

It was easier to keep sipping on the wineskin of spirits, to gaze into the flames and to just keep drinking and focus on numbing the physical pain. Better that and to let her tongue continue to slowly recount the events that her brought her here thus far than to dare dwell on them.To let herself relive them. A weakness, yes, to approach it so, but if she dared let any one thought catch and stay in her mind for a moment too long…

Her breath caught and she devolved in a hack of wrenching coughs for a long minute before the liquor soothed it again and she could finish her story.

Words did not fail her, not this time, though they may have paused and faltered...when she recounted how Lissandra had led her to believe in the black frost, when she told of how she split ways with Volibear, when she spoke finally of that last walk of betrayal through the deep halls of Rakelstake up to her makeshift grave on the sheer mountainside above the city.

But her words remained steady when she spoke, certainty in her voice, of just what the last of the Iceborn planned to do.

“What do you mean?” It was Ashe who finally interrupted, and though her brow was darker than a stormfront her face was ghostly pale. “Avarosa and Serylda—”

Sejuani shook her head, and a for a moment she was back on the mountain again, the world growing dark around her. She shook her head a second time, black ice wound pulling in pain, but the fire came back into hazy focus.

“She said it—and what reason would she have to lie? A thousand centuries spent waiting. Maybe the ancestors cast the Watchers away, but they are not dead. She means to bring them back. A new era…”

One that would see the end of them all. The end of the Freljord...the end of Valoran itself.

“All this time...all these years, these _centuries_ , she was merely waiting in the shadows. Warping the spoken and written histories, waiting to strike.” Tryndamere mused out loud. “But why now? Why specifically now? Why have we not seen these ‘Watchers’ yet?”

Sejuani swallowed, closing her eyes as her head spun with the answers. As her mind chilled with the memories and voices.

_You’ve been such a good tool…_

The still new wound pinched, a bolt of pain running through her, and she gulped back another swig from the now substantially less full wineskin before licking her lips and speaking.

“The right moment. She’s been patient and recovering her power if nothing else. Now was her moment to act. You were rising to unite the Freljord, and I…” Curse her tongue. “She recognized the opportune situation.” Sejuani finished lamely.

Udyr saved her from her own self-loathing and shame though.

“It’s more than just that. Midwinter’s day...the Longest Night. For the first time in the ten thousand years since the Watchers were defeated, the heavens will be in place for it this year. Planetary alignment. The stars will be at their strongest on the Longest Night...and I have no doubt she intends to harness that power to amplify her cursed magics and bring back her old masters from the Abyss.”

Silence greeted his proclamation, somber and heavy in the air, until only the sound of crackling embers could be heard.

“We have little under several fortnights to act then. To stop whatever ritual Lissandra plans on.”

The sheer incredulity—the very impossibility of they needed to do—was lost on no one, but Ashe’s voice was unwavering. There was no denying the conviction is her voice.

“We cannot let her win. We must not.”

 There was a moment of silence, and then talk exploded, snippets of voices overriding one another.

“Winter is already fully upon us, and we have a matter less than two months to—”

“Even with what remains of the Winter’s Claw combined with our armies--and I still question their willingness--our forces can hardly match Frostguard and Troll—”

“Lissandra is entrenched in Rakelstake! How can we breach it when no one—”

Ashe stood upright, ordering attention to her.

“Enough,” she commanded, and everyone in the room grew silent. Sejuani watched, feeling numb, as Ashe pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose, pinching in clear stress. “This meeting has already gone later than intended and we are well into the night. Nothing productive will come of arguing strategies at this hour. You may each feel free to stay up for the night if that is how you best operate in approaching such things, but we will dismiss and reconvene when the sun rises again. We must have a plan before we leave in two days’ time. Our fates all depend on this.”

She stood, and Tryndamere was already by her side before she even waved her hand. “Dismissed.”

Most of the room had already filed out before Sejuani had the presence of mind to rise, belatedly realizing she, too, should return to her tent.

Sejuani stood, and the world spun and twirled. Someone was at her side instantly, but she pushed them away.

She was...not that weak...she needed no help. She…

“Easy, old friend. Gragas’s special brew can knock out an entire ox.”

How did Olaf suddenly manage to prop up against her?

“You gave her _what_? Not even camp wine or mead but _what_? When she’s _supposed to be recovering_ —”

Ashe’s voice jumped in volume and pitch with clear anger, even as Olaf tried to brush it off.

“Aww, c’mon...nothing bad came of it…”

“Nothing _bad_ when she can hardly even stand on her own? When even with the help of the Spiritwalker the healers weren’t sure if they could save her in the first place? And now you’ve gotten her drunk on spirits while she’s still yet to heal?!”

Sejuani flinched without meaning to, and had to close her eyes as the cave swirled even harder.

“Lady.”

That gruff voice was Udyr himself, and when he laid one great hand on Sejuani’s other shoulder, she felt the worst of the dizziness ease off.

“Sometimes...different times call for different treatments. There will be more than enough herbal tea in the morning I am sure. All is set for the night. You, too, should get your rest.”

Sejuani stared at the floor as the silence stretched, aching for the oblivion of dreamless sleep that she knew the alcohol would grant her. Finally, Ashe spoke, and her surprisingly gentle words and even softer tone pierced harder than any blade forged from ice or steel.

“Be certain she remains safe.”

“We will, my lady.”

Sejuani wasn’t exactly sure how they got outside. A heavy wind had whipped up, and few were outside of their tents unless needed.

“...Bristle…” she muttered, and there was a pause.

“Aye, let’s take her to the boar. Do some good now.”

There was talking with unfamiliar voices behind her. Guards. Right. Guards for her gilded cage. Guards to keep her from ruining the Freljord a second time.

 _I failed them_.

She wasn’t even aware she’d spoken out loud, hoarse words dripping from her throat, until someone—she wasn’t even sure if it was Olaf or Udyr—squeezed her arm and both spoke.

“The fight’s not yet over.”

“You’ve failed no one while there’s still breath in you. Winter’s Claw still yet fights.”

Sejuani wanted to shake her head, but the world would surely slosh about even further, and so she pressed her lips down tightly instead until they suddenly stumbled into an actual building.

The makeshift stables were hastily constructed of pine trees from the surrounding woods, crude and windy, though the many ponies that were tethered within seem happy enough having that much extra measure of protection from the elements in addition to their shaggy coats.

And at the end of the stable, in a great pile of hay and looking more than content with his separation from the horses, lay a familiar gray mound of fuzz.

“Bristle!” Sejunai’s voice cracked at the end, and she was not ashamed for it as she stumbled down the stable and onto the frozen earth, half colliding and and falling into his great white and hoary face.

He was here. He was here and real and whole and the same as always.

Well, almost.

A new, still pink scar reached across his great forehead and snout, the work of some sort of blade, no doubt, though it was already well-healed.

Had he gotten this escaping from Rakelstake?

“Bristle…” Sejuani murmured his name again and again, trying to ignore the wetness that escaped from the corners of her eyes.

He was alive. And was he was here. That was all that mattered now. He was safe.

But how many others had been lost?

Sejuani clutched her fingers into Bristle’s rough and coarse fur, trying to calm the rush of emotion that choked at her throat with the familiar touch. Bristle, if he thought anything of her absence, of their separation and Sejuani’s unassuming betrayal of the Freljord to Lissandra, showed nothing of it. He wuffled, a low and happy grunting with a particular cadence he had always seemed to reserve just for her. His nose prodded gently against her chest, as if already aware of the fragile nature of the wound she bore, and Sejuani buried her face into the prickly fur of Bristle’s forehead, breathing in the safe, familiar, and trusted musky smell of her one tried and true friend. The one who, it seemed, was incapable of thinking of anything less than the best of her...even when Sejuani felt unable to think that of herself. After everything she had done, after all the clear signs, and yet her willful ignorance…

Sejuani shook her head, vision blurring from the alcohol and eyes drooping from the sudden onset of deep, bone-weary exhaustion.

She didn’t care about the guards who she knew still followed her, waiting by the edge of the stable with Udyr and Olaf. She didn’t care about the winds and snow flurries that whipped through the air. No different than so many, many years before, Sejuani curled up against Bristle’s sure and encompassing warmth, and fell easily into a deep, dreamless sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time is running against Sejuani and Ashe as Midwinter approaches. While Ashe seems certain in what they need to do to defeat Lissandra, Sejuani cannot help feeling lost. She’s been given a second chance at life, but for what purpose?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a tremendous amount to add in here except that I am very glad to be continuing with this series. A huge thank you to those of you readers who have also continued to read and stick with this, especially those of you who keep commenting (bless your hearts it really helps motivate me to keep going, you have no idea). I'm terrible at estimated total length of a multi-chapter story, but I'd estimate I have somewhere around 3-5 chapters left in this story, so expect things to start ramping up more. Now without further delay, please read and enjoy!

It didn’t feel right to Sejuani, taking her meals on silver plates in the shielded interiors of Ashe’s finest tents, eating alongside her highest of generals. Sejuani _was_ considered one of the leaders of this...whatever this was. Ashe had made it abundantly clear again and again that this whole venture was a coalition, a true alliance, headed primarily between her, Sejuani, and Tryndamere. But words were only one thing. The reality was something else.

And the reality was that Ashe was the de facto leader, and Sejuani ultimately had to defer to her. Even just months ago, the thought of bowing her head to whatever Ashe had decided would have made Sejuani seethe. _Her_? Allow the so-called Chosen of Avarosa make the shot calls?

Now was different though, and it was difficult enough for Sejuani to even manage looking at Ashe, let alone thinking of arguing with her. Sejuani was there as a face only. A figurehead for what needed to be accomplished, and she knew it. The only real purpose in her being alive was to ensure her own people, the Winter’s Claw, were kept in line for the alliance.

Because for some unfathomable reason, despite everything, those of her people who had rallied and survived and gathered to the rebellion against Lissandra still looked toward her with unwavering and steadfast support. They still called her ‘Warlord’, and they still obeyed her every word as law.

So much so that they _did_ fall readily in line when Sejuani made it known she wanted them lending their full support to the war effort they were embarking on. It was an effort that was now leading them north along the western edge of the Ironspikes, deep into the lands uninhabited by humans. Ashe had decided on a clear goal, one that Sejuani could not argue against: they needed help.

Who better to lead the fight with them against the Watchers than the Ursine?

Sejuani’s stomach lurched and her black ice wound clenched in pain, though she did not slow her step through the camps, merely tightening her lips.

The black shadow of guilt ate away in her stomach as she thought of Volibear, of what he might say or do when Sejuani showed up at his doorstep, nevermind that Ashe led them. If she had just met her grave on the mountain like she was supposed to…

Sejuani shook her head once, trying and failing to banish the dark thoughts that had only continued to eat at her, even since she had begun her recovery from her injury. She was alive, and that was the truth of it. She had to make herself useful, to try to _do_ something, even if it was as nothing more than as a dog to Ashe.

It didn’t mean that she had to pretend she was actually worth anything of value, though, and eat on those silver plates with the rest of the war council.

Her meals had long since switched over to sitting around a campfire with her warriors when she could manage it, eating from whatever slog had been tossed into the large pot for the night. At least there, amongst the men and women she had grown up with, she could feel something more akin to home.

Sejuani shook her head a second time and kept walking. It was only early afternoon, and dinner would be a long ways off. In the meantime she would make herself as useful as she could for her people. Ensure they were set for any ambush or battle that could happen at any given moment, that they were ready.

As Sejuani walked through this corner of camp, she heard the familiar sound of weapons against weapons, and her feet took her automatically toward what she knew had to be a battle circle

A crowd was gathered, far larger than normal. A mix of Winter’s Claw and the barbarians and Avarason...and the tension was palpable, putting her immediately on edge. Not at all the casual and productive training ground that battle circle was supposed to be.

She saw the young Winter’s Claw warrior—he was just a youth, really—painfully pick himself up from the ground, blood streaming from his nose, and a barbarian easily twice his size towering over him. Her fury suddenly jumped into life, cold and burning like her wound, and she realized what was happening before the barbarian even opened his mouth to boast.

“Well? That’s all the famed Winter’s Claw can offer me? Pathetically easy...as I thought. Good thing we’ll be getting the Ursine soon.”

Angry buzzing immediately rippled through the Winter’s Claw, and Sejuani spied hands moving to weapons just as much as other warriors turning and reminding one another through gritted teeth that they were to not dishonor ‘the Warlord’s orders’.

She would not have her own people giving Ashe or Tryndamere cause for complaint, no, but...

Sejuani was pushing through to the forefront of the crowd before she even realized what she was doing, her own people parting for her quickly as soon they turned and saw her. Suddenly, she was at the edge of the battle circle, and all eyes were on her. She stared unblinkingly ahead, decision already made, damn whatever the healers and Ashe had told her.

“Says the man who picks on youths half his size. How your people must sing ballads about you on the cold winter nights.” A round of guffaws went through the entire crowd, and Sejuani did not miss how the barbarian’s veins corded out in his neck, angry. She continued before he could even speak. “You wish to test your strength? Then step up and dance the battle circle with me.”

He was angry, but his eyes suddenly burned with delight at her offer, dropping momentarily down toward where her tunic covered her injured shoulder. She knew what his answer would be. “My pleasure.”

It was a temperate day, particularly considering the early winter that had set upon them and how far north they were. No snow had fallen, and the temperatures were warmer than what they had been in while, with no wind howling at them. Those born from the blood of the Iceborn had always been less bothered by the cold, particularly once their blood was pumping.

Even the barbarian warrior had removed his shirt in favor of fighting in his skin, which now glistened from prior exertion. She needed to match him, to show no weakness, and defeat him soundly on those terms.

For her people.

Slowly, Sejuani removed her tunic, undoing the laces and then lifting the cloth over her head before casting it aside on the ground. She immediately heard the whispers break out around the battle circle, from Winter’s Claw and Avarosan alike, eyes staring just below her collar.

She didn’t need to look down at herself to know what they saw. She saw it every day that they changed the healing poultices.

Even with her chest wrappings on for modesty, even with the bandages still in place, the evidence of her wound and its less than natural cause were evident beyond the edge of the wrappings. Her skin was tinged an unnatural shade of blue, like the flesh of old corpses frozen in the ice. And for all that her injury had been a single puncture wound, spider like fissures radiated out from it—scars that ran like lines of white lightning, stark against the now glacial hue of surrounding skin.

“Weapons.” She demanded it more than asked, staring straight forward. As the new challenger, she was within her right to choose, but she didn’t want that. She didn’t want a single soul who was going to watch this to think for even a moment that she had some extra sort of advantage. She would grind this barbarian into the frozen dirt, and do it even with every advantage given to him.

The huge warrior shifted for a moment, clearly considering. Then he spoke. “Double-headed battle axe.”

Sejuani rolled her shoulders loose, flexing her too long unused muscles.

Battle axe was hardly a typical choice for the training that was supposed to be battle circle. The giant, double bladed weapon was too heavy to be wielded one handed, and made accidental bloodletting, serious injury, and even death much more likely.

Which was of course no doubt what her opponent had considered.

Not to mention, she doubted anyone present had seen her even heft such a battle axe before. It had indeed been a number of years since she had last seriously trained with one, but her opponent was hardly about to choose a flail for her use, and it seemed he had deemed a simple sword too questionable as well. So be it.

Two battle axes were brought into the circle, sharp and gleaming. There was no room to carry blunt training arms in a roving camp like this...in a war camp. Her opponent gripped his easily, waiting. Sejuani took hers from the young Winter’s Claw warrior who offered it to her a moment slower, taking the extra second to adjust her two-handed grip, to bring old muscle memories back to life. It _had_ been a long time. Her body had suffered from her time being bedridden, and already her shoulder and chest ached. But she would endure it.

There was no room for weakness in the Freljord. Not for her people.

And this was for her their sake.

She hefted the axe, feeling tendons tug and ache. No matter. It would change nothing.

The warrior came out swinging. Literally. No warm up or the traditional testing of lightly crossing weapons at first. He charged at her, axe swiping the empty space she had stood only a moment before. Sejuani cracked her neck, rounding carefully as she eyed up her massive opponent.

She tested a few engages with him as she dared, feeling the full weight of his body behind each one. If she could get him to overcommit, and then come up under his guard...

He swung wide, and Sejuani stepped in, preparing her strike, only to have to jump back. His counter swing in was much, much faster than she expected from before. He had baited her.

 _Shit_.

Sejuani hissed, a line of red now scored across her midriff and dripping blood. It was a light cut, and before her injury she doubted it would have even brushed skin. As it was, had she been a second slower in jumping back, she knew her innards would be decorating the ground now.

There was no sound from the sidelines. Every onlooker knew as well as her that it was a killing blow that had been aimed at her, never mind that it was battle circle. Her opponent wasn’t stopping despite the blood, and no one dared to interrupt the fight now.

She gritted her teeth, forced on the defensive as he charged her again, using his longer reach to keep her from the offensive. Another swipe grazed across her left shoulder, dangerously close to her black ice wound. Then another. Her bandaged injury burned with cold, creeping into her lungs, practically urging her to fail. Sejuani snarled. If he thought her so weak from this, if he thought she would fall...

With a roar, she ran back into him, entangling their axes into a grapple. He grinned viciously—weapon grappling naturally favored the bigger and stronger of the two, but Sejuani didn’t care. If the bastard wanted to play hard, she’d show him no mercy. She refused to lose.

Her knee jerked upward into his groin, hard, and all of the strength he had been leaning into the grapple evaporated. In one motion, Sejuani knocked his axe away with her own. In the next, she slammed the heavy butt of her weapon around, connecting with the hard bone of his jaw in a loud crack. He dropped like a stone, whimpering, cradling the likely broken bone.

Sejuani drove the heel of her booted foot into his chest, knocking him down. She towered over him now, her own breath harsh in her ears, the distinctive wheezing of her still healing lungs betraying just how close she was to her own limits.

Silence surrounded her. Just as no one had intervened on her behalf when this nameless warrior from the Steppes had first shown his killing intent, so too did no one come to his defense now.

She should kill him, she knew. None would stop her. Practically everyone expected it. This was supposed to have been battle circle, and yet he had broken the decorum first and far before her, looking for her blood to spill. She was within her rights to take his life, to leave a message that the watching Avarosan and barbarians alike would not soon forget about her and the Winter’s Claw, allies or no. She gritted her jaw, every muscle in her body tensing for what was to come.

Sejuani raised the battle axe up, and then slammed it into the earth beside the fool’s head. He was lucky enough to keep the errant limb that housed his small brain this day.

Sejuani straightened, exhaustion already beginning to overcome her. She turned around to start walking from the circle, and stopped cold as she stared directly into the piercing blue eyes of Avarosa’s Chosen.

“This is an interesting version of battle circle you all seem to have engaged in.” Ashe’s voice snapped through the air like a whip, and Sejuani did not miss the faces—many on the Avarosan side—that immediately paled and looked away. “My understanding had always been that the point was to disarm, and that drawn blood stopped all combat. This is not hólmganga after all.”

The barbarian Sejuani had been fighting quickly staggered to his feet, bowing his head, words coming out garbled. “Lady, I—”

“I requested neither your opinion nor your words.” He quieted instantly. Ashe continued, raising her voice. “Training is critical to keep our skills sharp, I understand this. Do _not_ forget who your real enemy is.” Her eyes flashed. “And do not think yourself above your brother next to you on the battlefield...or who will have your back when we face the true enemy in the darkness?”

She turned to look at the warrior, and her lips curled in clear disdain. “You will go to the medic tents, and you will await orders and discipline from Tryndamere himself.”

The man had not looked up since Ashe had told him to be silent, and he now hung his head even lower, if possible.

The surrounding warriors—Avarosan and Winter’s Claw alike—had only just begun moving to disperse when Ashe turned her full and angry attention toward Sejuani.

“Sejuani!” Oh yes. She was still _very_ angry. “You will come with me.”

Not even the pretense of a request. It was an order, and Sejuani was in no position to argue. Not anymore.

She clenched her jaw, refusing to bow her head before her own people, and stepped from the battle circle slowly.

“Warlord!”

Sejuani turned, and to her surprise saw the whole of the Winter’s Claw who had been watching now gathered at her back like an immovable wall. Her stellari who had spoken out was back straight, hands in fists and eyes flashing in protective silence.

Waiting for the order.

Ready to protect _her_.

Sejuani could feel the tension rising around her, could practically hear hands moving to rest on weapons. It made her twist her lips in vexation.

She waved one hand, urging her people to ease.

“Relax. Been a while since the battle circle for me, eh? Too long. Be sure the men and women keep things orderly, and the weapons are cared for.”

And just like that, no differently than back at the mead hall, her stellari pressed one fist to her own heart and then bowed, crisp and curt. “Of course. It shall be done.”

Then her warriors were dispersing readily, back to their own tasks with not a hint toward the altercation that could have almost happened.

Sejuani turned back to Ashe, and caught the brief moment of surprise and something akin to respect flashing across her old rival’s face. Yet it did not make her voice any less hard when she spoke a second time.

“Come.”

Sejuani didn’t bother putting her tunic back on. She was still bleeding freely enough from her cuts, and she didn’t want to ruin the perfectly good linen with unnecessary blood stains. So the tunic was balled up into one hand, and she followed a half step behind Ashe. A formation of Avarosan royal guards spanned out behind them, but even with her eyes focused straight ahead, Sejuani did not miss the blatant stares following them through camp, right up until they reached what she realized must be Ashe’s own private tent. Or hers and Tryndamere’s.

They entered, the guards remaining outside, and Ashe pointed one strict finger toward a wooden chair that sat by the small pit fire. Now truly unsure of just how upset Ashe was, Sejuani took her seat without complaint. She watched as Ashe handled some objects at a small table, then began to take stock of the tent interior.

It was as spacious as befitted a woman who called herself a queen, and yet not at all as ornate as Sejuani had expected, almost surprisingly simplistic. Even more notably, Sejuani saw no sign of Tryndamere. None of his armor or weaponry, and the sleeping pallet was a single, plenty of space for a woman like Ashe, but hardly enough for both her and her beast of a husband.

So they really _didn’t_ sleep together then...

Sejuani’s curious thoughts were interrupted when Ashe came up to her, a wet towel in one hand and bandages in the other.

“Your wounds need to be cleaned and dressed,” she stated bluntly. Her eyes were still sharp, practically daring Sejuani to protest.

When she kept her tongue to herself, Ashe knelt, first tending to the wide gash across her belly.

“Since when are you a healer?” Sejuani didn’t mean it to sound belligerent. She hissed it through gritted teeth as Ashe pressed the washcloth against the shallow wound, trying not to focus on the surge of pain.

“Since I started learning about how not simply to take lives but to save them, too.” Ashe’s voice was sharp, but there was no true bite in it as she worked, her hands surprisingly gentle.

Sejuani closed her eyes as Ashe worked, moving from the cut on her stomach to the two on the outside of her right shoulder. Her eyes only creaked back open when, even after the last of fresh bandages had been applied, Ashe’s hands still hovered at her shoulder.

“He was aiming for your black ice wound…” Ashe’s voice sounded small and subdued, a large departure from minutes earlier, and Sejuani decided she didn’t like hearing Ashe like that.

She let a measure of annoyance creep into her voice. “Of course he was. I would, too, against me. That’s how you win. Exploit your opponent’s weaknesses. Use what you need to win.”

“Yet you knew you had that disadvantage and still chose to fight him?”

Sejuani shrugged, or tried to. “It was a necessary risk. And I’m fine.”

“He was aiming to kill you, Sejuani! Surely you knew that before you even stepped in?”

“I think history speaks for itself at how difficult I am to actually put to my grave.” She’d meant it to sound joking, lighthearted. She didn’t like seeing Ashe like _this_. Concerned. Ashe was supposed to be strong. Certain.

Yet as soon as the words left her mouth, Sejuani’s attempted smile turned to a grimace, and she could muster no mirth from it. Without meaning to, her shoulder jerked, pain zinging through the unnatural wound that was so, so slow to heal.

“Sej…”

Ashe’s voice had dropped to a whisper, and Sejuani couldn’t stand to look at her anymore, to look at those ghostly eyes that seemed to see through her, inside of her. It made her feel small...and ashamed.

“It’s nothing,” she insisted, turning her head away.

Her breath caught in her throat when she felt Ashe’s hand move to her collar, to her right shoulder. It paused for a moment, but when Sejuani said nothing, it continued moving.

Ashe pulled carefully at the sweat-soaked bandages, undoing them until they peeled back and revealed the full extent of the injury, blue-skinned, white-scarred and all. As horrific and perverse as the cause itself. At least it had fully closed and was no longer slowly weeping blood.

Sejuani wasn’t even aware of how tense she was, of how she was already bracing herself for the inevitable look of revulsion and fear from Ashe until she managed to actually look back up...and saw none of those things, but an odd kind of curiosity underlined by something Sejuani couldn’t put a name to.

Ashe’s hand slid down, oh-so-gently cradling that cursed wound, and Sejuani almost stopped breathing for a moment. She forced herself to swallow, to focus on Ashe’s face. Ashe’s gaze was still turned downward, her pink lips pursed and her brow furrowed as a stray lock of her unnaturally white hair dangled down her face.

Sejuani ached to reach out and tuck it back into place, but daren’t move a finger.

“It’s...so cold to touch,” Ashe murmured, and Sejuani could acutely feel fingertips tenderly running over the unusually oversensitive scar tissue. Normally her scars went sensory numb once the tissue began to heal. Yet another odd thing about this black ice mark. “Does it hurt much still?”

“Yes,” she answered simply, because it was the truth.

Ashe immediately pulled back as if chastised, and the sudden absence of her touch struck Sejuani unexpectedly, longing then closely followed by what was becoming an increasingly familiar sense of shame.

It was Avarosa’s Chosen who stood over her now, as cool and professional as ever.

“I’ll have my healer come to re-treat the poultices for that shortly.”

Sejuani nodded once, not bothering to tuck back the undone bandages now. No point in it. She readjusted in the chair, trying to instead focus on taking mental stock of how her disused muscles had faired from the day’s sudden exertion. Which was not to say terribly. Better than she had expected, in truth.

“I need you alive and healthy, Sejuani.”

Sejuani jerked her head up, but Ashe’s back was now turned to her as she busied her hands at the table.

“I know how slow your...your wound has been to heal. I don’t want you jeopardizing your health just to make a statement to the troops.”

 _That_ made Sejuani stick her chin out, the comfort of what she knew many would call her old stubbornness providing her refuge from otherwise stormy thoughts.

“I still have eyes and ears as well as a head on my shoulders, Ashe. I am not blind to the animosity running between factions in the camp.” The alliance was uneasy yes, but… “I will not see my people bullied simply because they possess the discipline to hold themselves in check that others lack. It was a risk that I needed to—”

“I know, I _know_ ,” conceded Ashe, and Sejuani held her tongue at the rare frustration that bled out in her voice. “Sejuani... 

She turned around, and Sejuani felt something akin to guilt rise back up in her throat. It choked and burned like bile, and yet again she had to drop her gaze. This time, Ashe did not close the distance between them.

“I _need_ the Warlord of the Winter’s Claw at my side. I know that woman and leader is still in there somewhere. I saw a glimpse of her again today. But I need her with me to lead the charge against Lissandra, not recklessly gambling her life by the wayside. You’ve been given this second chance for a reason. _Find yourself_. We need you.” Ashe took a deep breath. “ _I_ need you.”

Then Ashe shook her head and exited, leaving Sejuani to an internal maelstrom of emotions that refused to subside.

* * *

The dark, swirling storm that was as old as the Freljord itself sat stubbornly to the north-northwest of them, barring the fastest passage across the ice plains to the Ursine settlement.

It was not that setback in and of itself that was the issue—an extra day of marching a bit northeast and then west would allow them to approach the Ursine directly from the east rather than the south. Normally a minor inconvenience.

Except...

An entire troll army was entrenched between them and the eastern front of the Ursine settlement

In an odd deviance from what she would have normally done given the impending strategic impasse they were at, Sejuani had found herself prowling the northern and western edges of their camp, eyes continually drawn to the mesmerizing roiling of the heavens that was the Gelid Vortex. Despite the unease of the men and women, the storm had shown no inclination to move—hell, it was already far more south than usual. If anything, it should start migrating farther north into the barren and frozen wastelands of the glaciers.

Hours had passed as she had stood and watched near the outskirts of camp, until suddenly a scout was coughing politely and asking for her presence at a meeting with the commanders. Even then, she’d had to tear her eyes from the sight, fighting the urge to look back over her shoulder as she was led away.

And now that they were all enclosed in a tent, the remembered images continued to dance in her head, like some forgotten dream now called firmly to her attention.

She swatted at thought internally. They were here to plan and focus.

“—troll ‘king’ himself, it looks like,” explained Quinn patiently. She was stroking Valor’s beak as she explained the dangerous scouting mission that had brought them this vital information. “Impossible to get a raven past them. It was a near call even for Valor to get that close. They’ll kill and... _eat_...anything that moves.”

Everyone looked at the map that was laid out on the ground near the firepit, on the different colored markers that represented their best guess at numbers. The Ursine were backed into their own walls, trapped in place by the much larger army of trolls that sat on their doorstep.

It was not that their own alliance force could not handle the trolls. All of them had agreed that if the trolls had the numbers advantage over the Ursine, so too did the Avarosan-Winter’s Claw army have the numbers advantage over the trolls. No, it would be the undoubtedly tremendous level of casualties they would sustain by going head-to-head with the trolls that gave them pause. Enough such that it brought into question if the losses would truly be offset by the gains of having the Ursine by their side.

If, however, they had some means to alert the Ursine, to urge them out of the walls to serve as the proverbial anvil...they could then hammer the trolls between the two armies. An old war strategy, but an extremely effective one when properly pulled off. Except that with the Gelid Vortex blocking all other routes to the Ursine, they had no way of alerting their presumptive allies to such a plan.

“There’s no way to predict when the Vortex might abate?” asked Sejuani. And by ‘abate’, she meant get the hell out of their way.

Most eyes turned toward Udyr, who shook his head. He was none the wiser than any of them. “The Vortex is like a piece of the Freljord itself. It is as unpredictable as the winds and snows.”

“Already unlucky enough it has decided to sit here,” interjected Ashe. “But we cannot afford any more delays on the hope that it might soon move. It shows no sign of it, and time is working against us with the Longest Night approaching. We shall have to plan around it, and that is the unfortunate reality.”

Normally Sejuani would have nodded and agreed. That was the way of life in the Freljord. Unfortunate hardships simply happened. What made them stronger was accepting it and finding ways to persevere around such adversity.

Yet this time, her brain seemed to have other ideas.

Sejuani rubbed angrily at her temples, the image of the Gelid Vortex suddenly and stubbornly popping right back to the forefront of her mind, as if her brain was trying to dangle some important puzzle piece in her head that she had yet to decipher accordingly.

_What about the damned storm?!_

Whatever her subconscious was onto, it was hardly forthcoming. Her annoyance only increased and she snapped her head back up.

“Ashe,” everyone stopped from conversation and turned toward her, and Sejuani abruptly realized that she had not the faintest clue as to what strategies they had turned toward discussing. Well. No choice but to continue forward. “You survived the Gelid Vortex. And the Ursine do it all the time. How?”

Ashe blinked, caught off guard. She must have been saying something about the Cryophoenix, as her hand was still pointing at the black-mottled egg that was carefully swathed in cloth on the table.

“I…” Her hand returned to fiddle absentmindedly with a lock of her bright white hair, hair that had once been the same blonde as Sejuani’s. “It wasn’t that simple, Sejuani. Everyone else with me _died_.”

Inexplicably frustrated, Sejuani turned on Udyr. Surely the Spiritwalker _had_ to know at least _something_. The storm was supernatural, after all.

“There must be some key to passing through it. If others have before, why can’t—”

“An army could never hope to pass through it,” Udyr shook his head.

Sejuani wanted to growl as the Vortex held in her mind’s eye. “Not an army! All we need is a messenger. One person able to go through and alert the Ursine. Then we can truly hammer and anvil the troll army. The casualties would be nothing compared to if the Ursine _don’t_ emerge from their walls when we attack from the east and the trolls turn on us instead.”

“ _No_.” The vehemence with which Ashe spoke took everyone aback. “I will not gamble with a messenger’s life like this, not when the chances are so horribly miniscule. I will not ask any to to do what I would not do myself.”

This time Sejuani snarled without meaning to. “I’m not asking you to! I’m suggesting—”

Ashe stood, a tight and rare kind of fury suddenly running through her as her eyes flashed. She was a woman of small stature, and yet suddenly she commanded the room without question.

“Absolutely not. No one will part from camp on such...such foolishness. Be they from Avarosa _or_ the Winter’s Claw. I forbid it. We will depart as planned tomorrow to take the eastern route toward the Ursine. End of discussion.”

Whatever else was said for the duration of the tense meeting fell on deaf ears for Sejuani. She did not notice the uneasy glances tossed between her and Ashe no more than she noticed how Ashe seemed to pointedly avoid looking at her. She simply stared furiously at the rug-decorated walls of the tent, patterns continuously swirling back into her mind’s image of a great and eternal storm.

* * *

Sejuani didn’t see Tryndamere until she was leaving the stables, having given her private goodbyes to Bristle. Even in these dark hours of the night, his immense shadow was impossible to miss for all that he moved with an eerily quiet grace for a man of his bulk.

Sejuani did _not_ startle, though her hand may have gripped her flail tighter than she would have readily admitted.

“Tryndamere,” she spoke warily when he made no sudden moves nor introductions.

He seemed to evaluate her for a long moment—saying nothing of the fact that she was dressed in her full and repaired armor, or that she had a sack of provisions thrown over one shoulder—and then uttered only one word. “Follow.”

Realizing Sejuani was not trailing him after he took the first few steps, he turned around, sounding vexed as he spoke.

“Do you want to make your way out of camp or do you want to go slinking back to your bed much the way you left it?”

She gaped for a second. Whatever she had expected from Tryndamere, it was _not_ that. Then she was scrambling to catch up to him.

They fell into an oddly comfortable silence, moving quietly through the sleeping camp. For what guards were awake and on duty, not a single one called out or stopped them.

Sejuani readjusted her old and now again single-horned helmet back under the crook of her arm. She didn’t want to yet don it, to give such easy evidence to just _who_ she was, even though she was doubtlessly an already easy-recognized face throughout the camp.

She ran a gloved hand through her freshly short-shorn hair, thoughts beginning to nag at her, when Tryndamere broke the silence again.

“You and I both know well enough that my people and the Avarosans still view you and yours with a measure of suspicion, never mind what Ashe may decree, never mind that you may order your own to peace and alliance and that they follow your word to their dying breath. You wouldn’t make it to the outside perimeter before someone reported it to Ashe.” Sejuani did not fail to notice they were now walking through a portion of the camp that was primarily barbarian dominated. “But I can get you through, and toward the Vortex.”

As they approached the edge where the scouts walked on guard, Tryndamere spoke a few works in a harsh, foreign tongue, and the perimeter guards bowed and then walked away without glancing back even once, leaving Tryndamere and Sejuani alone on the northwesternmost edge of camp. The first hints of rosy dawn were just beginning to peak above the Ironspikes in the east.

Tryndamere gestured. “Your way is clear now.”

As easy as that.

Too easy.

Sejuani turned and spoke the question that had been weighing on her since they left the stables.

“Why are you helping me?” She finally demanded. “You’re helping deliberately go against Ashe’s orders so I can try to walk through the Vortex, something she deemed suicidal. Why?”

Did he actually want to see her dead that much? It was the only thing she could make sense of.

And yet even in the dim light his dark eyes glittered with something that was far, far from bloodlust. No, it was something different, and when he inclined his head, there was the mutual respect of a warrior she had crossed blades with and traded scars many times before, even if now they were supposed allies.

“Ashe will have my head for it, no doubt. She always find these things out one way or another. And she does care for you, Sejuani. Yet you choose to leave, even now, when she has done her best to give you a place here. So let me ask you: why?”

 _That_ made her swallow unexpectedly, and Sejuani had to turn away for a moment. Her voice was soft when she spoke, but it was as sure as anything she’d felt since she first awoke in the healing tent after Quinn and Udyr had recovered her.

“Because I...I _have_ to do this. I can’t sit here any longer and play a figurehead when…” She shook her head. How could she explain? Even now it was nigh impossible for her to tear her gaze from the blackness that she knew was the Vortex, the way it weighed on her thoughts until she thought she might go mad. “I just can’t. I feel I need to do this. To try to reach the Ursine and change the upcoming battle. I...need to face the storm.”

Tryndamere was silent for a long moment, long enough that Sejuani began to fear he might change his mind and try to stop her. But then he bowed his great head in acquiescence. “Then you must do as you feel. I understand this.”

Sejuani nodded back, and took her first step forward. There was one last thing she needed to say, though. “Please...if I...make certain Bristle is well cared for.”

Only when Tryndamere affirmed he would see to it did Sejuani begin walking. A hand suddenly lashed out to stop her and she whirled, preparing to fight. She would not be stopped.

“At ease. Just one more thing, Sejuani.”

Puzzled, she watch as Tryndamere fiddled with his offhand bracer, finally removing it to offer it Sejuani. Only once it was handed over did Sejuani see the small, nearly hidden dagger interwoven on the inside forearm of the leather. It was a clever, skillful design, and not something she would have expected from Tryndamere’s people.

Tryndamere tapped the great broadsword strapped to his own back, explaining. “The year my people crowned me as their leader, a star fell from the heavens onto the Steppes. From the metal, they forged me my sword. There was just enough leftover, though, to make that small dagger. I give it to you now.”

Meteorite forged. A kingly gift indeed. But...why…?

He continued calmly. “If the stars indeed have aligned to give you a second chance, then let them watch over you more closely. Sejuani. May you carve your path forward. I expect to see you on the other side. If not for you, then do it for Ashe.”

And with that, Tryndamere turned and marched back toward the tents and torches that marked camp.

Sejuani paused only long enough to strap the new bracer and dagger onto her left arm. The leather was still warm, comfortably worn, and strong. She replaced her helmet over her head, then shrugged her cloak more firmly over shoulders and began to walk northwest, toward the swirling clouds of the Gelid Vortex that stood between her and the Ursine.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With little left to her broken legacy but a fool’s chance at redemption, Sejuani sees only one course of action, even though it spells death. She walks into the heart of the Gelid Vortex, refusing to turn and look back behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to everyone who commented and left kudos last time! With the current pace of the story in my writing, I'm guessing this tale has somewhere in the realm of 4 or 5 chapters left until all is said and done. Thank you for continuing with me and reading. As per usual, and comments, criticisms, thoughts, or questions are always welcomed. Cheers!

Sejuani paused only long enough to wrap a thick, woolen scarf around her face and neck, leaving on her eyes barely peeking out from beneath her helmet.

The camp, she knew, was but a speck a distance to the south of her now, she wondered vaguely if Ashe knew by now, or if they had yet to realize that one of their number was missing, nowhere to be found. Sejuani never once turned to look behind.

She could not afford to.

Though the sun had surely begun to move above the lowest of the Ironspikes by now, Sejuani felt as though she were walking into the void, into a night that only grew blacker and fiercer with each step.

The wind had begun to pick up rapidly, and snow began to dot her vision, falling heavier with each footstep. It was crucial she not let herself get turned around once she was in the thick of things. She had to walk straight, keep moving north even when her senses lost all hope of direction.

One foot in front of the other. Left, then right. Repeat. She could do this. She had survived blizzards before, after all.

Yet her heart thudded wildly in her ears, giving silent voice to her fear. The Gelid Vortex was no simple blizzard, and every man and woman in the whole of the Freljord grew up being taught to avoid the certain death that the Vortec meant for the foolish who did not respect it.

But, she couldn’t—

It struck without warning, and Sejuani was abruptly on her hands and knees, a yell escaping her pained lungs, before she realized it was no beast or creature attacking her from her back, but the first and full strike of storm vaster and more powerful than she could begin to comprehend. She tried to look around, and her fear spiked into something more like terror.

There was no easing into it, no time to prepare. One moment she had been marching closer to it, and now she was in the thick of the Gelid Vortex.

Sejuani stumbled to her feet, and nearly fell right over again when the wind buffeted her back a second time, unrelenting. Her eyes watered no matter how much she blinked, icy snowflakes smashing into what little of her face was not covered. Everything beyond an arm’s reach of her was blanketed white by the tornado of snow, and Sejuani had to bite down on the instinctual rising panic in her gut.

Sight wasn’t necessary. As long as she remained calm, she could do this. Walking was all that was needed.

She used a fist to smash off the thick plate of ice that had quickly formed over her scarf, easing her breathing for a bit.

She took a step forward, and thunder boomed overhead, loud enough even though the snow for her to know the lightning must be right on top of her. No time to slow down.

Another step.

The wind—the _gale_ —howled in her ears, helmet making no difference. Sejuani struggled to trudge onward, focusing everything on walking in a straight line, not that she could even really tell anymore.

Layers and layers of fur and wool covered her, but still the cold pierced through her chest, and what little breath she could draw was just as quickly robbed by the greedy wind. One hand scrabbled toward her chest plate, but there was no spike of black ice there, no hole through her stalwart armor. Her fingers, numbed through her leather gloves, merely scraped and slid against the thick layer of rime that had already grown over her plate metal.

Lightning pierced the void, a loud roar, and Sejuani was blinded for a moment. She blinked helplessly, and in the bright lights that filled her eyes, visions flashed and swam.

No...not visions. These were not dreams. These were not warnings.

They were flashes of memories.

The crown of true ice, placed upon her brow. The seat of simple, dark stone as her greatest throne and accomplishment, and the cold, blue hands of Lissandra as they slid across her cheek, her neck, down her throat.

“No!”

Sejuani yelled into the Vortex, unable to even hear her own voice over the storm. She would not be distracted by these...these…

A thunder bolt ripped through the air again, dizzying and powerful.

The power of black ice in her veins, insidious and tempting, burning with cold as her fury overcame her, as she cast down Volibear, and banished him from her council and army alike. Why had she done that? Why had she not seen? At what point had she let herself be so deluded as to willfully blind herself to the truth?

The old words to the false prophecy she had once been told played out in her head, unwilling to be pushed aside, and she saw the monstrosity she had let herself become to get there. And for what? All of it...for what now?

What good had she been to her people, to the Freljord? Better were she dead, better had she died and one of her long since buried brothers or sisters lived.

Failed. No different than how Serylda had failed first among her sisters.

Her knees. When had she fallen to her knees? When had her feet given out on...her…?

She closed her eyes, yet still the images played out beneath her eyelids.

Ashe, standing beside Tryndamere, beside her chosen husband, gaze cold and without understanding. The missive inviting, practically begging Sejuani to treat and ally...and to attend the wedding in Rakelstake.

Sejuani couldn’t draw a breath, her lungs locking as black ice seemed to seize something deep beneath her sternum, dragging her to the dark and icy death that had always awaited her.

“Ashe…” she croaked, and the howling winds swallowed her whispered words. Her eyes opened to nothingness.

Ashe had been right. Again.

But the message. Sejuani had to get the message to the Ursine, even if she didn’t make it herself. She had to deliver the message. She had to do something to make it better, to make all of this shite better.

Laughter carried to her on the wind, so distinct and horrible that Sejuani jerked and flailed to defend herself against the incoming threat she knew had to be approaching.

Lissandra…

The wind rose and fell with it, echoing, taunting, and fear gripped at Sejuani’s heart like the same black ice claws she could practically feel stabbing into her wound. No time to tend to it, though. She had to stay alert, to stay alive. To fight.

The laughter was right behind her, and Sejuani whirled up, trying to swing her flail. She landed back in the snow drift, struggling, unable to find her footing a second time and rise. Her weapon was still in hand, but of Lissandra, she could find no sign. The last of the laughter had faded, drowned out by the fury of the Vortex.

Lightning crackled through the darkness again.

_I can’t...I have to...make it. I can’t stop now. I won’t...stop…_

Sejuani’s eyes grew too heavy, and the maelstrom whited out any last hope of vision.

The last thought to pass through her mind was a memory, far far older than any other, from when she was too young to remember the details of anything more than the warm touch to her brow, the only gentleness to a harsh and cold life that was just beginning.

“Mama…”

But she had died, too. Just as they all had.

Just as everyone would.

* * *

 

Sejuani jerked, ice cracking off of her in sheets as she flailed violently out of the snow drift.

Her very bones ached, but…

She was alive.

She continued to shake off the stubborn layers of frost, looking at the skies above her. Light clouds, sun and blue nearly peeking through from behind them.

And as for the Gelid Vortex…

It roiled and moved further and further behind her to the west, leaving Sejuani half frozen and covered in snow and ice, but still definitely alive.

She had done it. She had done what everyone in the war council had said was impossible, what Ashe herself had forbade. She had faced down the heart of the Gelid Vortex itself, and she had survived, seemingly in one piece.

Sejuani ripped the frozen scarf from her face, sucking in a deep breath of air. Her lungs ached no differently than the rest of her numbed body, but they did not betray her. It was difficult to be excited about the feat she had just accomplished; it would meaningless if she could not see out the task that she had dared this all for.

The sun had already stretched well into the western half of the sky, shadows beginning to fall long, and Sejuani’s true destination remained a dot on the northern horizon. She would need to make haste to reach it before nightfall.

Her first few, unsteady steps out of the snow drift and back northward reverberated through her entire body, blood only sluggishly pumping through her veins to dispel the numbness. She would need to do better than this.

Without pausing to stop, Sejuani fumbled with her free hand to her small bag of provisions. Everything was, predictably, frozen as well, but she managed to pincer onto a piece of salted pork small enough to shove entirely into her mouth. As she fell back into a reasonable gait, she sucked on the morsel of food until it softened enough for her to mechanically chew, and then repeated the process with more.

Nothing felt like it was frostbitten, but she daren’t take the time to stop and remove her gloves or boots. It would make no difference stranded in the middle of these ice wastes. She could deal with any injuries once she reached her destination.

Twilight was fast falling by the time Sejuani approached the south-western ridge of the walled off cliff dwellings of the Ursine. Her breath came out in sharp, regular clouds of vapor as she gasped, testament to just how hard she had pushed herself across the last stretch. She’d had to be careful to walk along the edge of the Vortex, avoiding any chance of straying too far east and close to the trolls. A careful glance back had shown that the Gelid Vortex had slid back eastward again, reoccupying the same spot she had perilously traveled through; she was safe from the trolls, but now pinned up against the Ursine and the towering walls of ice.

She drew a deep breath, and then yelled out at the battlements.

There was no response.

It stood to reason that with the Vortex swirling directly to the south of them and the enemy to the east, they weren’t sending many guards to walk this stretch of the walls. But still, there had to be someone within yelling distance.

Sejuan had begun to yell a second time when two helmeted but furry heads abruptly poked up over the edge of the wall, beady black eyes hard but searching. They found her immediately, and Sejuani stiffened but held her meager ground when a crossbow nearly the size of a ballista was suddenly aimed at her.

“What are you doing here, human? Who sends you?” The words were growling and rough tongued, spoken with heavy suspicion. Sejuani thought the two Ursine might have lingered their gazes upon her distinctive helmet for a long moment, but it could have also been a passing anxiety of her nerves.

First and foremost rule among the Ursine: do not show fear.

She tilted her chin up, too bone-weary to be afraid, and spoke as loudly as she dared.

“I am Sejuani, blood of Serylda and chosen Warlord of the Winter’s Claw. Your chieftan, Volibear, allied with my tribe, and I come bearing urgent news for him.”

Never mind that Sejuani herself had dissolved that alliance months ago.

One of the guardsman pointed with a jet black claw accusingly behind her. “How did you get here?”

“I walked,” she responded automatically. After a moment she clarified, not intending to give offense. “From the south. Through the storm.”

She did not miss the way they both drew back in surprise, eyes widening before then narrowing. “You expect us to believe a _human_ passed through the storm?”

The first flicker of irritation bubbled in her chest. “I don’t care what you believe, but I’m here and I urgently need to deliver a message to Volibear. Will you let me in?”

Silence.

“Listen,” she tried again, the stirrings of uneasiness now rising. “This message is critical. We can force off the trolls from their siege on your settlement.

The continued lack of any response was even more despairing than anger, and Sejuani rounded on the guard. She could not come all this way for nothing. Not for Ashe. Even if her own life was forfeit, there was still hope for the others. “If you want to kill me or turn me away, so be it, but Ashe, the Chosen of Avarosa, and her armies are arriving tomorrow from the east. They _need_ the help of the Ursine to smash the troll king and his ilk. Just deliver that message to your chief... _please_.”

Silence.

Dismayed, Sejuani dropped her head, stumbled a step backward as exhaustion now took its full and unrelenting hold back on her. What should she do?

As her mind whirled, a new head popped up above the ramparts, even taller than the others, glaring down at Sejuani.

“We see you and hear you Sejuani, Serylda’s Scion.” A moment later, a rope and wood slate ladder was dropped down from the rampart, just barely meeting the top crust of snow. “Climb up, and be prepared to surrender your arms once you reach the rampart. Agreed?”

Relief flooded her system, and she nodded once. Her flail was firmly wrapped over her shoulder, and she began the arduous process of scaling the ice wall with fingers and toes that had yet again grown numb as she had stood still.

She made it though, fumbling over the top of the wall to where a group of fully battle-ready Ursine awaited her. Her flail was taken from her immediately, as was the axe she had strapped at her waist, her bag of mostly exhausted provisions, and even her helmet. The hidden meteorite dagger braced against her forearm remained.

A spear, easily twice the size of those used by humans, was leveled at her back. “Try anything, and you’ll regret it.”

Even if she had wanted to, Sejuani was too tired for once to do anything. Let her give her message and then the Ursine could do as they pleased, even if it meant locking her up.

The Ursine who had dropped down the ladder to her seemed to be the highest ranking of the ground of guards that now surrounded her. He barked something out to his comrades in their harsh native tongue, and then turned without even looking at Sejuani.

“Bring her.”

Sejuani didn’t need the pressure of the spear against her back to urge her into motion. The sun had fully set now, only the flaming pitch torches lighting the way through the settlement. Without her helmet, her ears grew numb quickly, and she was stumbling by the time they reached the great cliff wall with the stories of houses and Ursine dens build into the stone and earth itself. It was an unfamiliar sight and type of architecture she had only ever heard of second-hand before, and normally Sejuani might have been more inclined to study her strange surroundings, but her mind as well as her body struggled to maintain even a semblance of being awake and alert. Too little was left in her except to notice how almost comically small she was in comparison to the great doorway which she was now led through.

She nearly walked right into the back of the Ursine who led the way when he stopped short, growling out words in his native tongue to someone else that Sejuani had no hope of beginning to decipher.

It was hard to see around her guard, but Sejuani saw that they were very clearly inside now, managed to catch a glimpse of some Ursine sitting about in ‘chairs’—carved from stone and large enough for two to three grown men to sit upon with ease. A great pit fire crackled merrily in the cavernous room, giving both light and heat, though part of Sejuani noticed offhandedly that she still could feel none of the warmth she knew the flame generated.

The spear that had remained leveled at her back the entire way abruptly dropped away, and the Ursine that had been standing around her now stepped aside, leaving Sejuani face to face with none other than Volibear himself.

After all the time they had spent together with Volibear at her side, she had thought herself quite skilled for a human at deciphering the moods of Ursine through their body and facial expressions. Most, she knew, took one look at an Ursine and assumed they were in an eternal state of rage. Hardly. They showed all the same range of emotions as any human, just with different hints.

But now...now Sejuani felt as locked out and helpless as anyone else. She dared to look up at Volibear’s bright blue eyes, and felt trapped in place. She could guess no better what thoughts lurked behind his impassive face than when he had first wandered into the Winter’s Claw settlement.

His great arms were folded across his chest as he stood across from her, and for a long moment, words failed Sejuani.

Until…

“Well...when last we met, you cast me from your people and your council. You banished me north to my homeland on pain of death. Yet now you come before me. No army. No friends at your side. As alone and helpless as you would have left me.” His voice echoed through the room, all attention on him. “What have you to say for yourself?”

A tremor ran through her, and Sejuani swallowed. The words that left her mouth were the only ones she could think of.

“I was wrong.”

Silence.

He unfolded his arms, and Sejuani could not help how her gaze was drawn to his claws, dark and shining. She had seen first hand how they could easily render flesh from bone.

“You beg for mercy?”

“I…” She wetted her lips. “I beg for nothing. I accept my consequences.”

And that was the truth. She could not undo what had already been done. Whatever came of it, she would accept, no matter the cost to herself.

Volibear’s paw moved lightning fast. Sejuani could have dodged it, could have tried to at least block it. Instead she took the cuffed blow directly to her ear. Her head rang for it as she swayed and picked herself up from the ground. There was the iron taste of blood in her mouth, though she knew immediately that had it been a true full force blow she would still be on the floor. He had not even used his claws. This was something else.

“That is for your arrogance...for your pride and your foolishness and your selfishness.”

Sejuani shut her eyes tightly, preparing for whatever would come next. She deserved this.

“And this...” Great, warm arms suddenly surrounded her, pulling her into an embrace. “Is for returning back to us from the darkness.”

Whatever she had been expecting, it had not been that. Shock stiffened her muscles, dulled her response, until she felt something deep within her, deeper still than the ache of her black ice wound, shatter and come undone.

Her arms reached up and around Volibear, fingers grasping desperately back. She had prepared herself for the shame, for the disappointment, for the punishment and consequences of her actions. She had not believed, had not let herself even hope...

Tears, hot and silent, streaked down her face to be absorbed into the thick mat of Volibear’s fur. A shudder ran through her, and she felt Volibear hug her a fraction tighter. Something choked in her throat, ugly and vulnerable, and Sejuani forced it back down. She refused to sob.

A rumble vibrated through her—Volibear speaking.

“You are here now, Sejuani. You are here. The darkness will not have you.”

How long they stood there, Sejuani was not certain, except that when she finally was enough herself again to step back, she found that the room had emptied at some point, leaving just she and Volibear to themselves.

She rubbed at her eyes with the heel of her hand, willing away the evidence of tears that she knew was still there. Warriors were not supposed to cry.

Volibear said nothing but gestured to one of the massive seats for her next to his own. A tray holding enough food to feed her three times over was next to it.

“I know you are weary, and I would ask you many things, particularly if you have travelled through the Great Storm itself. But night has long since fallen, and morning will come too soon. And with it, you say, battle. We will both need our rest and strength for it, then.” Something in his face hardened, and his white canines flashed. “So let us make haste: tell me what you know.”

* * *

 

Ashe fiddled nervously with her bracers. They were already perfectly tight, but not too tight. She knew this because she had been checking them the better portion of the morning leading into the early afternoon.

Old habits died hard, she supposed, but for once she didn’t have it in her to be vexed with herself for the slip up.

How many battles had she been in before, and how many more were yet to come? This would arguably be the lesser of them, for Lissandra still awaited them. Yet Ashe had slept more poorly than she could recall in years the last night, tossing and turning until she had finally thrown the covers aside and abandoned any attempts at rest.

Her mind had been a knot of whirring and conflicting emotions, when she should have been focusing on the upcoming battle they were to wage against the trolls, and she could find no respite from her own thoughts.

Fury, pure and simple. Forthright fury at the man who was supposed to be her husband, her closest ally. It had not taken much inquiry to determine just _how_ Sejuani had left camp so easily without someone informing her, and even now, Ashe’s stomach clenched with bile and her molars ground down at the thought. She could not fathom why Tryndamere would have done such a thing.

Or she could, and each reason that her mind conjured was even darker than the last. No, she could not risk letting her thoughts, travel down that path again, least of all right now. She had to lead by example, not just for the Avarosan and the tribes of the Steppes, but the Winter’s Claw, too...

Bristle snorted and wiggled underneath her, jerking Ashe from her thoughts. Riding a frost boar was not at all the same as a horse, no matter what she had been told.

She never even had the intention of bringing Bristle to the battlefield, let alone being the one to ride him. Ashe had been approaching the stables to retrieve her own gray mare when not one but _three_ of Sejuani’s stellari had approached her, Bristle in tow with them.

_‘He won’t be happy if he’s left behind…’_

Ashe had understood that, but not why they had chosen her of all people. As an archer, she wouldn’t be anywhere close to the front lines where Bristle could be most effective. And she wasn’t even Winter’s Claw…

Her protests had gone frustratingly unheard, though, and the stellari had insisted on finally convincing her that Bristle would at the very least take care of her, and that they were certain the ‘Warlord’ wanted this.

Not even the hint of doubt that their Warlord might be…

Ashe exhaled sharply through her nose and gave Bristle a pat, to which he snorted happily. If only she could be so pleasantly oblivious as him.

She had to focus. More than ever, Ashe needed to focus. Still, the words slipped from between her lips before she could help herself.

“I’m not your mistress, Bristle, but we’ll get you back to her soon...I hope…”

And she _had_ to hope, beyond all hope, because if she didn’t…

She sucked in a breath through her teeth, and the commander next to her glanced at her with concern. One hand waved away his worries before he could think to voice him. There was no time for chit chat. The vanguard was almost in place, and they would begin the charge soon from over the hill to where the troll army lay sprawled out before the Ursine.

One of Tryndamere’s captains, on horseback, made his way back through the ranks and toward Ashe, and then all thought of any talk evaporated from her mind.

“Lady, Tryndamere stands ready with the vanguard for the attack. At your mark?”

Ashe was keenly aware how all any talk amongst the surrounding troops had died, how all attention was now acutely on her, focused on her every action, whatever might next come from her lips.

She swallowed first, taking deliberate care that her face was impassive as stone, and her voice was clear and unwavering...no different than how she had watched her mother lead her people all those many, many years ago.

“On my mark then.”

Without further ado, she stretched out her left arm, and Avarosa’s bow crystallized into her palm. The unnatural chill of the true ice artifact was burning cold, and yet comforting. In her right hand, more true ice materialized from the thin air, and she drew it back like an arrow, aiming her bow upward and toward the crest of the hill. 

Ashe furrowed her brow, and slowly the true ice warped and wavered, bending to the will of her thought alone. Light now gathered at the ‘arrow’, the first of the signals. Ashe vaguely heard the roar of Tryndamere’s vanguard, the tremors in the frozen ground as so many men and women began to charge. Her focus, however, had to remain on her job, on the second signal that was yet to be given.

Screams, both human and inhuman, carried on the wind as the two armies met in battle, and Ashe steeled herself. They had to hope. She had to believe. Just a second more, another moment to be certain the trolls were focused wholly on the human army…

She released her shot as high as she could aim over the battlefield—not an arrow, no, but a hawk forged of true ice, releasing a great screech before it shattered apart in an array of sparkling light and snowflakes over the the forefront of where the battle now raged.

There was no holding back now. There was no turning around. It was time to fight.

Ashe spurred Bristle across the snow and ice with her rearguard, calling to life arrow after arrow out of thin air, leading the volley into the trolls, with her own guard and archers at her sides. It was vicious, brutal. Like every battle Ashe had ever known, the thought of just why and how stories had ever described war as ‘glorious’ floated through a mind, a sobering and morbid question.

But this was a battle they had to fight, and she could only pray to the nameless and faceless powers beyond them that what casualties they were already sustaining would be worth it

After all, they could only press against the troll king’s forces for so long.

 _Please_ , she thought internally a wordless prayer to no one. _Please_...

From her vantage point atop Bristle, still safe on the slope of the hill, Ashe watched as the great, ice gates to the Ursine settlement suddenly cracked and creaked, forced open from within. Then the Ursine poured out from their village, many running on all fours, their shattering roars striking fear in even in Ashe’s heart for a brief moment before she was able to remind herself that they were not her enemy.

For the trolls, however, their army—its attention focused on Ashe’s forces and not ready for the fearsome attack from the rear—buckled, bowed, and finally broke. Chaos loosened on the battlefield as the trolls broke ranks and ran, trying to retreat out with as much of their numbers as they could.

Ashe yanked the reins on Bristle, forcing him to stillness as her eyes searched, searched, and searched...

Practically dwarfed by the surrounding Ursine, there was still no mistaking the almost comically small figure that that oh so distinctive flail and horned helmet cut, slicing through even the trolls with a liquid and careless ease that Ashe knew so, so well.

She felt her heart jump into her throat, something fierce and warm blooming up within in her chest as she stared at Sejuani across the battlefield.

A rallying cry went up amongst the troops. Ashe dug her heels into Bristle’s sides, though he needed no encouragement to push onward. For the first time in many months, Ashe felt the unmistakable stirrings of true and bright hope come to life in her blood.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The quiet before the storm. With an alliance now agreed upon and fully united, there is but one thing left to do: march onward to challenge Lissandra herself, and prevent the resurgence of the Watchers.

There was always the old urge to turn and give chase when presented with the fleeing backs of the enemy. Even with all of the years of combat experience,it still sang in her blood, making her fingers twitch over the grip of her flail. She could tell even the Ursine felt the same, watched their claws flex as they stared after the retreating figures of the troll king and what was still left of his army. They held their stance when Volibear did not signal for pursuit, though.

Sejuani knelt down, using the crust of snow to wipe off the worst of the blood and gore that covered her weapon. There would be time enough once they were off the battlefield to clean her armor and flail properly, but she hated to let things stay needlessly soiled for any longer than necessary; a warrior was judged by how they treated their weapons, and she had only ever treated hers—from the simplest dagger to her prized flail—with careful respect.

The battle had been swift, tides turning and the trolls running south as soon as they realized they were being routed, leaving the bodies of their fallen on the frozen earth. Sejuani noticed some of the Ursine going through corpses now, ensuring that the enemy who were left behind were well and truly dead, already beginning to scavenge any weapons or armor from them worth the taking. For the first time, Sejuani looked toward the vanguard of Ashe’s army as they now met with the vanguard of the Ursine. She could only hope that they had suffered minimal casualties while holding out for the Ursine to attack.

Blood was splattered across her flail and armor. Not her own though, nor that of her allies. It was a dark blue, almost black. Troll blood.

Sejuani spat a curse to the side and stooped to gather up a fistful of snow and begin rubbing the worst of foul-smelling blood off of herself. It had been a long time since she had fought trolls, and never an army of them so organized as this. It seemed all manner of foul creatures now rallied beneath Lissandra’s command.

She was lucky to escape unscathed, Sejuani knew, though not everyone on the field had managed such. Red was splashed against the white snow alongside the corresponding deep blue. Sejuani rehefted her flail, beginning to take stock of those around her as the human and Ursine armies now cautiously began to intermingle. The process of aiding the injured and taking stock of the dead was only just beginning.

A quick glance to the side confirmed that Volibear had, too, remained uninjured. No splashes of red marked his white fur or his silver armor, though blue coated his muzzle and claws. In fact, there was not a single standing Ursine who did not bear the blood of their enemy.

Having fought alongside Volibear in the past, Sejuani had thought she possessed a firm grasp of the battle capabilities of his people, which was nothing to scoff at. Now having seen them in action, her respect had grown even deeper. With the Ursine alongside them...the combined forces of the Avarosan, the Winter’s Claw...maybe, just maybe…

There was no time to pursue the thought and base strategies that were already buzzing in her mind, though.

“Warlord!”

It was not a piercing call, but it was loud enough, and the call was echoed and brought up by those among the Winter’s Claw boar riders who now ventured forward into the Ursine ranks, less intimidated by Volibear’s clan than the more cautious Avarosan who followed on their heels.

Sejuani looked up, the first tuggings of a grin pulling at her lips. Not a one of her warriors looked surprised to see her. No...their eyes sparkled with the unshakable conviction of _knowing_ that she would be waiting for them with the Ursine.

They didn’t need to say it for Sejuani to know the depths of their faith: they had never once doubted her, even when she had doubted herself.

Her boar riders shifted and then parted, giving way for the greatest of the frost boars among them all, a sight and grunting that Sejuani would have recognized anywhere.

Sejuani preemptively spread her arms, expecting Bristle to continue on toward her, but then stopped from calling out her furry friend’s name when she realized Bristle was not alone. But who had actually ridden him into battle—

There was a blur and flash as the small figure astride Bristle dismounted with a crisp jump. Sejuani was only just able to recognize who the rider was. Then a moment later, Ashe barrelled into her with the force of a small hurricane, and Sejuani staggered, nearly losing her footing.

“You...you addlebrained, boneheaded numbskull! I ought to have you thrown into a jail cell for your _own_ protection from your obstinate stupidity!”

“Ashe, I…” Whatever she thought to say was forgotten. The adrenaline that was only just calming in her blood was now brought back to life and her flail dropped to the side, something hectic and earnest coming over her, coming over the both of them from sheer proximity alone.

Ashe had let go of Sejuani only to run her hands up Sejuani’s breastplate to the exposed skin of her neck, her jaw, her cheekbone and the old scar across it, as if feverishly checking to make sure that she was really there. That she was was really Sejuani.

And Sejuani was doing the same back before she even realized it. Ashe was an archer yes, her place near the rearguard where she could safely make her deadly shots with a ring of protection, but it had still been a battle, had still been a field now marked by the lives lost, and it was as if her hands moved of their own accord, desperate to be certain Ashe was safe.

“You’re alive,” whispered Ashe. “I’d thought...I’d hoped...bless the ancestors for keeping you, you stubborn, stubborn idiot.”

They were standing almost fully pressed up against each other, Ashe still clasping her cheeks, and Sejuani’s hands resting just above the curve of Ashe’s hips...a level and degree of touch that suggested a far different kind of intimacy than that of one-time rivals. Their breath hissed out from between their lips and mixed to form a cloud of steam in the air between them.

Sejuani caught more than just one knowing grin from a few of her own stellari, and even a daring wink that made her positively glower back. She should cough, step back...yet Sejuani couldn’t bring herself to do anything that would put space between her and Ashe. Not when Ashe’s thumb was stroking over the scar on her cheek with such unexpected tenderness, making her want to close her eyes for just one second longer…

“So...you must be Ashe, Avarosa’s Chosen.”

Volibear’s polite interruption was probably for the best, and Sejuani had to swallow down the sharp pull of longing that seemed to come out of nowhere as—finally—Ashe released her. Still, they turned as one, scant inches separating them as they faced Volibear.

In the space of a second, Sejuani watched with an equal measure of pride and respect as Ashe’s face hardened, as she turned into a queen.

“You must be Volibear, storm-chosen leader of the Ursine.” She pitched her voice now to carry easily on the wind. “You are right. I am Ashe, leader of the Avarosan and Avarosa’s own Chosen. We stand on the field of a battle just finished, but I come to treat with you to avoid a greater war that might yet begin and devour us all in darkness. I come to ask for your help.”

* * *

Sejuani lounged in one of the giant Ursine ‘chairs’, sipping easily from a skin of mead. The night was one of celebrations for the warriors of their newly expanded coalition, but one of intensive planning for the leaders and strategists.

Only after hours of wearying talks between all of the respective commanders had the course of action been decided on. They had but a week to make it back toward Rakelstake before the planetary alignment would occur on the Longest Night, and all of them felt the growing pressure of it. Tomorrow, their coalition would head out. Every last able-bodied warrior would march toward the narrow pass that would weave them through the most dangerous routes of the Ironspikes and deep into the heart of the Freljord.

The way would be treacherous, and no doubt Lissandra would be expecting them once word from the trolls reached her, but it was their only option.

At the Howling Abyss they would meet her and her armies, and they would fight to stop the return of the watchers.

Or they would die trying.

The faintest of shivers ran over Sejuani, though not from cold. She forced the darker murmurings from her mind with another swallow of mead, letting the alcohol burn pleasantly down into her stomach instead. The thought of death had never cowed her before. Now was not the time to start.

She knew she was not the only one having such thoughts. They would not be the leaders nor tacticians their own people so named them if they were not constantly weighing the odds and outcomes. Still, the bulk of the ruminating was over. They had decided on the course of action, and with that, the meeting had been dismissed.

Now only a handful remained in their makeshift ‘war room’: Sejuani, Volibear, Ashe, Udyr, and the Demacian scout, Quinn. Tryndamere had taken leave to go speak with his own people, and Olaf had happily dragged the stellari and other commanders out to partake in whatever drinking and celebration was still ongoing. As long as they were ready in the morning to march, Sejuani did not care if her own men and women indulged in drinking and merriment.

She knew full and well how important it was for them to have cause to celebrate, especially before they would have to rally before their greatest challenge yet.

For herself, however, there was no time for distractions. She supposed she had that in common with everyone else left in the room with her, though. Yet with their council now adjourned for the evening, there was a certain degree of relaxation that had settled over the quiet air that Sejuani relished in. What would come tomorrow would come. Until then, there was no point in wasting energy. Even Ashe was drinking from a goblet of mulled wine, the lines that had been so heavy on her face only minutes before finally smoothing away.

Quinn was tending to her bird quietly in the back, and for a moment there was nothing but the soft crackle of embers from the logs that burned in the fire pit. Then Volibear took a deep drink from his own wineskin, passing what remained over to Udyr before settling back in his own massive chair. His dark eyes alighted on Sejuani, and she raised an eyebrow back, curious as to what thoughts now occupied her old and true friend.

“So, Sejuani,” Volibear finally began after swallowing. “With the rush of the battle and the preparations for our near departure, we have had little time to speak in leisure. Many things were not given the due justice of explanation that they otherwise deserved. And one in particular has remained at the forefront of my mind. Your passage through the Gelid Vortex...a thing of legend even among my own people...perhaps you would be willing to tell me your tale now?”

Sejuani drummed her fingers on the armrest of her own chair, shifting in her seat. It was not with discomfort, per say, though she glanced around the room without meaning to, taking stock of how the attention of all those present was now turned onto her. The small audience did not bother her. Rather, it was that she struggled to come to terms with the near fatal journey even now.

Slowly, almost uncertainly, Sejuani recalled her tale from the last few days, starting with her impulse to leave the war camp in the dead of night. She glanced at Ashe once, more curious than apprehensive over what Ashe thought of the deliberate disobeyment of her orders, but Ashe’s face was only thoughtful, giving away nothing of what she might have felt as she listened.

At least until Sejuani stumbling retold of the resurgent pain in her wound as she had fallen in the middle of the storm.

Ashe started then, concern now flooding her features as she apologized, standing..

“I completely forgot after today’s battle! I can summon my healer at once to—”

Sejuani waved away Ashe’s concerns. “I won’t need that anymore.”

She saw the questions furrowed on Ashe’s brow, the crinkling at the corners of Udyr’s eyes, and rather than explain it, Sejuani decided it would be simpler to show them.

The skin of mead was set aside, and Sejuani undid the laces at the v-neck of her tunic, peeling away the cotton from skin to reveal the expanse of scar tissue centered just below her collarbone. It was hard and raised now, like a puckered weal, but well and truly healed. Never mind the surrounding skin remained blue and chill. It ached and pulled as any great scar was expected to, but no longer did it feel like a newly scabbed injury due to reopen at any wrong move.

It was still cool to the touch, noticeably so compared to the rest of her skin, but she just filed it away as another oddity given to the supernatural origin of the wound itself. Her fingers ghosted over the scar tissue for a long moment, and then Sejuani looked back up when Volibear half-exhaled and half-growled out a pensive breath.

“What is it?”

He did not respond immediately. Instead he now stood, shuffling over toward her. He hummed a second time before speaking.

“Among our clan, the journey into the Vortex is a test to see if one is worthy of being chieftain.”

Sejuani frowned, confused. She was not Ursine. “That’s where you received your lightning power, right?”

Volibear nodded. “I saw visions of the darkness the Ice Witch—Lissandra—seeks to bring upon us. The return of the Watchers, and when I came to myself, the storm gave me the power of thunder in the echoes of my voice, and the touch lightning in the strength of my paws.”

Sejuani had seen no visions in her own passage through the Vortex, no dreams of future, only the blindingly white certainty of her own death before the unyielding force of nature.

“I…” Ashe’s voice was subdued, unusually quiet. Sejuani turned toward her, watched as Ashe’s troubled gaze stared into the fire, seeing something beyond the flames. “When we were caught in the Vortex that day, I knew I was going to die. I saw no visions, only the screams of both sides of the skirmish swirling into the wind around me. And then white and blinding silence. But then I..”

She glanced up for a moment, looking toward Volibear.

“I felt a touch upon my brow, and heard a voice like my own in my ear. It told me that all things come with cost, but some things are worthy of sacrifice. It reminded me of when I found Avarosa’s cairn…” She shook her head, and then seemed to regain more of her usual bearing, though her voice remained somber. “Only I survived, and my hair has been white ever since.”

Sejuani’s frown only further. She’d gotten neither visions nor special voices from the ancestors. Just the scare of her life.

“So you got lightning magic, Ashe got white hair, and I get...what. A bigger scar than even before?”

She was aware her voice had taken on a petulant quality, that she was nearly whining, but really...it was hard to feel like she hadn’t missed something that everyone else apparently got when surviving the legendary storm.

Volibear didn’t grin or chastise her, though. Instead, his massive head quirked to the side and he stood, shuffling over to Sejuani to better look at her scar.

“In the Ursine tongue, the words for our test in the Gelid Vortex translate more readily to something like ‘Rite of Cleansing’.” The tip of one razor sharp claw traced softly over Sejuani’s skin. “You say the Ice Witch drew her dark magics from you, left you for dead on the mountainside. Yet perhaps the mark of black ice went deeper than that. Can you not say you did not wake from the storm, knowing the full worth of yourself, feeling free from that cursed touch once and for all?”

Sejuani felt her jaw flap uselessly for a long moment, for she had no words with which to respond.

* * *

Sejuani sat on the easternmost edge of the camp, ruminating on dark thoughts as she stared out at the dark outline of the Ironspikes that towered over them, and the rare clear night above them that revealed the speckling of stars.

The heavy snow clouds had parted for once, and the night sky winked and sparkled; Sejuani wondered which of those lights were not the stars but the planets, to be aligned in less than a day’s time. In the dark valleys between the mountains...in the Howling Abyss...they would settle all of this out.

One way or another.

At least the men and women knew better than to bother her. She’d been given her space when she’d emerged from her tent, approached only by one of her own warriors on watch duty who had offered her a steaming mug of mulled wine.

The mug was only half-finished, still hot, or so the steam indicated, but Sejuani’s mind was elsewhere while sat on the fallen log that served as her makeshift seat. Of course, her mind was not so heavily distracted as to miss the soft pad of footsteps behind her.

She turned around to already say she didn’t need anymore wine, and then the words fell away from her tongue.

There was no mistaking Ashe, though for once she was by herself, none of her guards in sight.

“May I join you?”

Sejuani grunted, nodding toward the empty space to her right on the log. A moment later, Ashe sat down next to her.

“Does sleep evade you as well?”

Ashe shook her head, and accepted what was left of Sejuani’s spiced wine when offered. After she had taken a full sip, she spoke.

“I managed sleep. My dreams keep me from resting further, though.” She paused to take a second sip. “I have seen our enemy’s face in my dreams. And it is not pretty...or it is no longer.”

Sejuani turned sharply, but Ashe was staring beyond and at the mountains. Did she have the gift of Sight?

“You can see Avarosa in her, and Serylda, too, I suppose. She must have been stunning once, before an Ursine mauled half of her face away.”

That made even Sejuani swallow uneasily. So that’s what was hidden beneath the helm Lissandra wore.

“I suppose the irony is that Lissandra is blind in more ways that one, though. She sees nothing but her own ambitions.”

 _Blinded by ambition_ …

The words rang through Sejuani’s mind, eerily similar to what she knew had been spoken of herself, and she shifted in discomfort. Ashe turned to look up at her then, and even in the dark, her gaze was sharp and knowing.

“Not like you, Sej. Never like you. You came back.”

 _Did I_? But she daren’t voice the question out loud. There will still too many doubts, too much hanging in the balance. It would mean nothing if they could not win against the odds that were stacked against them.

So busied with her own thoughts, Sejuani nearly started when Ashe’s hand slipped into her own. Her palm was warm against Sejuani’s wind and cold chapped skin, and that startled her the most. She had grown so unused to the comfort of heat. After a moment of collecting herself, she squeezed Ashe’s hand back, feeling the warmth spread up into her chest and neck. Such a small hand, but still marked with the callouses of a practiced archer.

It made her abruptly realize how, even now, Ashe wore so little in the way of protection against the elements. No thick wools or furs...as though it were the height of summer rather than the onset of an early and harsh winter.

Sejuani frowned, suddenly wishing she had brought a cloak herself. “Are you not cold?”

Ashe smiled at that, and finished the last of wine. “No.”

“You really don’t feel the cold? Even here?”

Ashe shook her head, a small and quiet motion. “The cold has never bothered me since the Gelid Vortex.” There was a pause as she no doubt noticed Sejuani’s own lack of heavy clothing. “You?”

“I…” Sejuani struggled to find the words, realized her off hand was already curled over the space between her right shoulder and chest, where the cold always seemed to emanate from, no matter how strong the hearth fires were, no matter how many animal furs she placed on her sleeping pallet. “It’s more...I don’t remember what it is to feel warm.”

She forced her eyes to bore into the black shapes that were the Ironspikes, though she could feel Ashe’s gaze on her, studying. The last thing Sejuani wanted or needed was pity.

Ashe’s thumb stroked the back of her hand, still giving off that blessed warmth. This time, Sejuani didn’t startle when Ashe dared to lean against her, resting her head to Sejuani’s broad shoulder. Slowly, she relaxed, pressing on cheek to the top of Ashe’s head.

They stared into the dark nothingness in companionable silence, Sejuani’s mind still whirring with thoughts, but none that she dared to voice aloud. Time was all too fleeting, and she didn’t want to break the fragile moment.

Ashe’s breathing had grown so even that Sejuani almost thought her asleep, but then she spoke.

“I’m afraid.”

How Sejuani ached to turn her cheek, to press her lips to Ashe’s hairline in quiet comfort, and the desire was both sweet and painful. Instead she used her words, surprising even herself.

“I’m scared, too.”

Warriors weren’t supposed to be afraid, let alone admit it. So much hinged on what was to come. Everything hinged on it.   

Ashe pulled her head back, troubled, her voice holding a rare tremor. “What if...if we don’t...if we are unable…”

Something fierce sparked to life in Sejuani’s breast, burning away her own doubts and fears. The thoughts were still there, yes, but she spoke with a conviction she was not even certain she had possessed until now.

“Ashe. Listen to me. We will not fail. We will do exactly as we must, tomorrow, and we _will win_.” Her hands had moved without thinking to grasp both of Ashe’s slender shoulders, trying to will her belief through her touch. She gulped in a breath, then gritted her teeth and spoke. “I’m afraid, too, but...we can’t let our fear control us. Not now. I won’t let it.”

Her words hung in the air, rising as steam between them.

Ashe looked up at her, something bright and unexpected in her eyes, vulnerable. One hand hesitantly reached up toward Sejuani’s face.

“Sej…”

Sejuani, caught in a silence pregnant with anticipation, felt herself want, want beyond any sort of hope she’d allowed herself to have in ages…

Then Ashe broke away, standing, and her voice had an odd pitch and undertone to it, for all that she spoke with her usual queen’s conviction. “We should try to rest. Both of us. We will need all of the strength our ancestors have given us for this fight.

It wasn’t until Ashe had begun to walk away that Sejuani stood herself, jaw clenched, resolute.

“Ashe.”

She watched as Ashe stopped short, as her hooded face turned back, features too shadowed for Sejuani to make them out in the twilight.

“We will win this.” Sejuani swallowed. “I will make this right. I swear it by everything I am.”

No matter what the cost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a slow chapter here, but one that I thought was necessary before the real action gets going next chapter. Expect a lot of things in Ch. 12 once I get it written!
> 
> As per usual, thank you to everyone who has stuck through with this story so far. I'm really excited to begin tying everything up, and your support has been invaluable


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All the world...on one arrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :')

Screams.

Some of bloodlust, some of death throes. Some were human, some...distinctly not. Even after all of the years and experience that had honed her into a master archer, the sounds of battle still sent a chill running through Ashe. Experience had, of course also taught her how to separate her mind from the unease, to push it aside. But it was always there nonetheless, the vague panic lurking just beyond her rational mind, chittering darkly even now of the costs to be paid for victory...and the even heavier price for failure.

It was chaos, pure and simple.

The narrow pass, the push now toward the bridge…

Ashe knew without asking that their army had to have sustained tremendous casualties already, forced into a choke point where the trolls and Frostguard awaited them, able to see only by what torchlight there was.

And yet...none had cowed before the war that now raged before them.

Perhaps it was desperation. Perhaps it was stupidity. Perhaps they all, too, felt the same weight of responsibility as Ashe did—as she knew Sejuani did—to stop Lissandra’s plans at all costs.

Even if it called on each and every one of them paying the highest cost of them all.

Ashe had only stood on the Howling Abyss but once before.

On one of her first journeys to Rakelstake when she was first beginning to devise the great treaty she had in mind, she had asked Princess Lissandra—or the woman she had thought was Princess Lissandra then—to take her to the hollowed battle site where their ancestors had once prevailed.

Even in the height of summer, it had been unnaturally chilly along the Abyss, the wind that gave it its namesake refusing to cease even for a minute. The bridge had worn down over the millennia, yet still stood just as strong and proud as the other structures left by the ancestors. Still, Ashe had shivered standing on the bridge then, looking down into the gaping maw where Avarosa had cast their oppressors. It had felt disconcerting, and she had left with more haste than what she would have liked to admit.

Had part of her sensed it, even then? Had her gut been warning her of their ancient foe and the machinations in work to return the Watcher?

She had not for a minute imagined that the fates would bring her back to this very site. Then, her biggest concern had been the rising aggression from Sejuani. Now, Sejuani was at her side, fighting just as desperately to end the nightmare that they stood on the precipice of.

And in the center of it all, surrounded by stalagmites of black ice, was Lissandra. Her horned-like headpiece was unmistakable, and even from this distance.

Their vanguard had been rebuffed now three times from getting onto the bridge proper, and Lissandra remained safely isolated from any of the battle, in her own world as presumably looked to herald in the return of her old masters.

The clock had run out. All of the plans, the ideals...there was a time to think and a time to act.

Ashe knew she needed to act.

She barked an order to one of the captains and then darted forward, away from her archer unit and through the crush of moving bodies. There were the dead, the dying...but she couldn’t afford to pay attention to who or what she was stepping over, not until she reached the primary vanguard.

 _There_.

“Sejuani!” she yelled, but the woman was in heat of the moment, fighting alongside the other warriors.

Ashe cupped her hand around her mouth, but then a paw was on her shoulder. The startle of Volibear nearly made her jump, but he simply nodded to her once, and then roared in her place.

“ _Sejuani!_ ”

That did it. Now aware,  Sejuani reined Bristle back from the fray and toward them, dropping her flail down and reaching out toward Ashe with her offhand.

Ashe clasped her wrist and easily jumped up onto Bristle. She paused to fire off another hawkshot, illuminating the crowded pass as clear as day. A stream of blood was now constant underfoot, and she tried to ignore it.

Sejuani bent her head just enough so that her breath tickled against Ashe’s ear as she spoke.

“What is it? Why are you not back with the other archers?” Her breath was heavy from the exertion of battle, distracted as she wheeled Bristle around. Ashe had no doubt that if she were to fully turn around, she would find Sejuani’s eyes flitting across the narrow chokepoint that was their battleground...no different than Ashe had been doing moments earlier.

But now Ashe’s purpose was fixed firmly on what her gut told her.

“I need to get to Lissandra.”

“We’re still yet to break through their rear guard at the bridge, and the bulk of our forces are trying to prevent a collapse on our own rearguard. We just need more time to break through the troll king’s--”

“We don’t have time anymore!” Ashe allowed some of her feverish desperation to bleed into her voice, and the anxiety jumped in her stomach. “We can’t wait to break their guard!”

Now Sejuani gave Ashe her full attention, brow furrowed as she took her attention off the battle. A dangerous thing, to let one’s attention to be drawn away.

“Then what…?”

“Get me past them.” She didn’t phrase it as a question. She couldn’t afford to. “Engage the front line, and let me get past. Let me at least buy us time and disrupt her until you break the guard.”

It was the only way. Ashe could already feel the perverse magic that Lissandra was summoning crawling across her skin, and she shivered. Surely Sejuani had to feel it as well...feel the dread cold crawling up from the black ice wound she had once been favored with?

She knew—how she knew—Sejuani’s first response was to say no. She knew better than most how Sejuani would pigheadedly throw herself in first, but be loathe to grant Ashe the same. But they had run out of options.

Sejuani looked torn, but she knew just as well as Ashe how dire the situation was. They needed at the very least to delay Lissandra. Still...would she agree or…

Finally she nodded, her lips in a thin line of displeasure.

“Be careful. I will try to break the wall so that we may join you as soon as possible. Do not underestimate her, Ashe.”

Neither of them needed to say who ‘her’ was.

“I won’t.”

Sejuani took a deep breath, then raised her flail, digging her heels into Bristle and yelling out a blood-curdling rally call. In an instant, those who were closest to them fell into place by their sides, not the least among whom was Volibear himself. Lightning now jumped along his claws. He growled, dropping onto all fours.

Then they were charging, Sejuani at the forefront and Ashe clinging onto Bristle’s neck and fur precariously.

Lissandra’s rearguard huddled, preparing to counter them. The first of the trolls dove out, aiming with a great club directly at Ashe—

Until Volibear darted in and flipped the troll away with a howl.

“Ashe, now!”

Bristle jumped, aiming straight for the mess off Frostguard and trolls who still viciously guarded passage onto the bridge itself, and Ashe jumped from him at the same time.

Her feet cleared over even the tallest of the trolls, and she sailed over the wall of enemies, tumbling on the icy bridge itself. Ashe was on her feet in an instant, but Sejuani was better than her word. She and Bristle were leading the disruption into Lissandra’s rearguard, making certain Ashe needn’t worry about anyone pursuing her.

Ashe checked her back only once, and then proceeded forward, true ice arrow already called into existence and Avarosa’s bow half drawn. She stopped as she approached the center of the bridge.

So this was the true form of the last of the Iceborn. Ashe has seen glimpses in her recent dreams, echoes of a woman who must have once been of immense beauty, now ruined and corrupted by the call of black frost.

This was the woman who had deceived her as “Princess Lissandra”, who had deceived all of them...rewriting and warping history until the truth of her betrayal against her own sisters was lost and forgotten. Until now.

Lissandra, last of the Three Sisters, last of the Iceborn, stood atop an undulating stage of black ice. Her ghastly blue skin was covered by a deep, blue black gown, and her elegant arms were outstretched into the night air over the Abyss. Her lips moved, and even with the furor of battle, strange-tongued words carried on the fell wind, shudderingly powerfully.

There was no time to dally.

Ashe raised her bow and let an arrow fly. It struck against one of the ‘horns’ on Lissandra’s headpiece, splattering into icy dust. Cracks spidered across the helm, but it did not break so easily.

Lissandra lowered her hands and ceased her chanting. With a calm, casual ease, she rotated on her platform of dark ice to face Ashe.

“So we meet again at last, Avarosa. Or shall I say we meet properly...in this life at least.”

Ashe already had another true ice arrow in hand, nocked back to her bow. She furrowed her brow at the name, but Lissandra merely smiled back, tight lipped and eerie.

“No attempts to talk, _Chosen_?” Lissandra’s voice--her true voice, not the one Ashe had heard so many times when she met with the congenial princess of the Frostguard--seemed to echo as if from a distance. It was powerful and lilting, and every bit as condescending as the words she spoke. “To convince me with the famed powers of your diplomacy? And here I thought it was Serylda’s brutish heir who shied away from words.”

“There is a time for words and a time for deeds. We both know which time this is. There’s no reasoning with you.”

Silence prevailed for a moment, and Ashe did not dare to lower her bow. Even if she was blind, it seemed as though Lissandra’s non-existent gaze was focused wholly on Ashe. Her blue lips thinned, and she turned fully from the edge of the bridge, taking pause from her ritual.

“You are more like Avarosa than you even know, it seems. But unfortunately no less of a misguided fool than her.”

“Avarosa led the Iceborn to overthrow the Watchers!” Ashe was not one to typically be argumentative, but something burned in her at the implied slight. Avarosa had guided her all this way. It was a legacy that was heavy, but that Ashe was never anything less than honored to bear.

Lissandra’s lips twisted in sneering smile, pearl white teeth showing. “And she died all the same for it, serving only to postpone the age of the Watchers, not to end it. Now you will serve the same fate.”

She gestured with one hand to the Abyss.

“I have waited for eons. The pitifully dilute blood of my headstrong sisters has grown weak, and none will stop the birth of the new age. See?”

For a moment—and only a moment—Ashe took her eyes off of Lissandra.

From the depths of the Abyss itself, the usually immeasurable darkness seemed to move. Lights twinkled and heaved from within the nothingness, but in a way that made Ashe’s stomach twist in nausea.

The Frozen Watchers.

She knew it with a chill certainty in her blood. The opening of a portal that would bring the old overlords and all of their tyranny back to Valoran. It was madness.

Ashe swung her attention back to Lissandra.

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” she muttered under her breath, and the arrow was already flying.

Lissandra, however, was already moving, too, and the true ice passed harmlessly into the dark night air.

The pedestal of ice that supported her moved and reformed with a disturbing speed, taking the place of feet. Lissandra snarled something, and shards of black ice suddenly blasted out from her hands, taking aim at Ashe. Ashe dodged, already preparing her counter attack.

The two dueled across the bridge, Ashe calling arrow after arrow from the thin air, Lissandra casting out shards of black ice back, slowly trying to close the distance between them both. Ashe knew full well that her own advantage was in her distance. Though seemingly unarmed, if allowed to point blank range, Lissandra would overpower her.

Lissandra uttered something, and great fingers of black ice suddenly grew out of the ground. Ashe looked up in alarm. The conjured structure was moving toward her, like an icy claw intent on trapping her down. She was not so slow, though. Ashe tumbled to the side, moving back in front of the now passed black ice to unleash a volley of true ice.

That found no target.

Lissandra abruptly winked away, cracking back into existence just behind Ashe--where the strange moving claw had ended. Ashe whirled, caught off guard— _too close_ —and tried to dive away, but not quickly enough.

A spiky blast of black ice icicles burst from Lissandra, and Ashe experienced the momentary horror of realizing she could not fully turn her face away in time.

Agony tore through her, terrible and unrelenting, and she screamed something wordless and instinctive. All thoughts of summoning another arrow were wiped from her mind as she held her face.

_My eye! My eye my eye! It’s my eye!_

Her mind was a frenzy of fear like she had not known before, wild and uncontrolled. Blood dripped through the fingers she cradled the right side of her face with. Everything seemed to careen wildly while Ashe writhed on the ground, already knowing what her brain still refused to accept. She needed her eye. She couldn’t fight without it. She was nothing without her vision to nock and loose an arrow.

The blood was pouring from her wound in sheets, and trying desperately to will vision back to her blinded half only sent lightning pain running through her nerves.

“Oh, the poor archer has lost an eye,” cooed Lissandra from above. Her voice was a mockery of sympathy, viciously pleased. “What is it they normally say? That an archer would rather lose a leg than an eye? That can be arranged, too.”

Blunt force slammed into her shin, and Ashe screamed a second time at the white-hot pain as bone snapped. She was sobbing by the time she managed to open her remaining eye, shaking uncontrollably. Lissandra was still towering over her, smiling even more widely.

She couldn’t think, couldn’t begin to string her thoughts together. Her leg...her eye...what could she even do without her eye?

“I rather enjoy the sound of your screaming. You do look and sound so like Avarosa…” Lissandra raised a hand, and Ashe curled in on herself in terror.

Suddenly Lissandra jerked. Rather than continuing, she blinked away in another moving claw of black ice just as a true ice bola exploded where she had been standing but a moment earlier.

_What…_

Ashe managed to turn her head,just able to make out a familiar figure with a single-horned helmet striding forward. Bristle remained near the mouth of the bridge, bucking and whirling in a violent fury that kept any trolls from following.

Her voice, achingly familiar and fierce, carried over the din of battle.

“Lissandra!” Sejuani roared, a challenge to the very heavens themselves. “Leave the archer! We have a score to settle...you’re mine!”

Then Sejuani launched herself.

She was a hurricane, a force like the very gales of the north, flail spinning and a war cry on her lips. The same complex passes of her weapons that forced even the finest of soldiers back now did the same to Lissandra. True ice met what black frost Lissandra was trying to conjure back, and broke through it.

Lissandra hissed when the flail first grazed her arm, opening a shallow wound. Then she snarled, backing up further and further when successive passes opened more injuries...until she was backed against the open edge of the bridge. Sejuani had forced her with no options to escape but the Abyss itself.

And she knew victory when she saw it.

Sejuani yelled again. She lunged forward to finish it—and Lissandra threw both hands out, yelling a word of power that made the very air screech.

Black ice exploded from the air and the ground, encasing Sejuani and stopping the last, otherwise lethal attack from her.

All of the raw hope that had been building in Ashe’s chest suddenly extinguished, replaced by icy, certain fear.

_No._

The prison of ice shattered, and then Lissandra was upon her. The flail was knocked away, sliding across the rime-covered stones of the bridge. Sejuani didn’t even time to hit the ground.

Black ice grew over Lissandra’s arms, her hands...her fingers became great frozen talons, wrapping around Sejuani and lifting her up in the air with an inhuman strength. There was a low shriek as her metal armor gave way before the dark magic, and Lissandra’s clawed hands pierced deep into Sejuani’s shoulder.

Sejuani screamed, and Ashe flinched, shaking all the more violently as Lissandra slowly ground and dug her black ice claws deeper, reopening the only recently healed wound.

“Serylda’s foolish, errant Scion. Oh no...no, no.” Lissandra clucked her tongue, much like a parent would to their wayward child. “A quick death would be far too merciful for a stubborn pig like you now. You could have died easily, but you chose otherwise. To come back, to try to fight _me_...and for some harlot spawn of Avarosa who’s using you as a sacrificial tool no different than I did with you.”

Ashe flinched. It wasn’t true. _That wasn’t true_. “Sej…” She whispered, but her quiet plea was lost on the shrieking winds.

“You’re a puppet, a mere nuisance no more capable of destroying me than Serylda was. But death would be too kind a gift for you now. Whatever shall I do with you? Hmmm…” She continued to move her black ice claws into the Sejuani’s shoulder, drawing out more screams, a cruel smirk playing on her face. “I think I’ll pin you up the wall like a living ornament, take my time slowly stripping the skin from your flesh, making a symphony of your cries and tears before giving you over to the Watchers to play with and break, until you beg for the swift release of a warrior’s death that I will ensure you are never allowed.”

She needed to do something, _anything_. Herbow was still in hand, even if she only had one eye with which to aim, if she could just manage to distract Lissandra—

 _Wait_.

The command came in a voice like her own, a voice she had only ever heard twice before in her life: first when she ‘found’ the bow in Avarosa’s lost cairn, and again when she had been trapped in the Vortex.

_Wait. And trust. The blood of Serylda runs as true as Avarosa._

A coolness, reassuring and steadying, spread from her fingers across her body. The pain from her wounds suddenly receded, as if walled off. Like shelter given from a storm. Ashe looked down, and found her right hand already curled properly around her bow, and a familiar light forming in her left hand to call to life an arrow.

She looked back up.

Sejuani was still writhing against the tortuous grip Lissandra held her in, to no avail. Lissandra’s grasp was absolute as poisonous words continued to drip from her mouth.

“...until nothing of the Winter’s Claw remains in written or spoken history, and no one one will remember the name Sejuani except as a passing phrase for the pointless idiocy of—”

Sejuani yelled, half pain and half rage, lurching forward—letting Lissandra’s claws gouge even deeper—to pull out a hidden dagger from within her left armguard. The steel flashed—not the familiar work of Freljordian forges—and then smashed directly into Lissandra’s helm.

For an agonizing moment, there was the screech of metal, and then both dagger and headpiece broke apart into pieces, useless.

“Ashe!” yelled Sejuani.

Lissandra flailed her blind and pale face, flinging Sejuani away from her, but Ashe was ready. Her true ice arrow was already called from the air; with only one eye working, with blood still coating her face, Ashe released her one last shot. The arrow wobbled terribly even crossing such a small distance. But it flew true...finding its mark deep in one milky and ruined eye of Lissandra.

The scream pierced across the bridge, across the winds, across the whole of the raging battle, unnatural and haunting. For the longest second, the world seemed to give pause, as if the heavens and earth themselves were focused onto the Howling Abyss. Every last gaze of men and women and troll alike was now turned toward them.

The sound of a great cracking—like that of a glacier groaning and moving from its weighty slumber—cut through the air. The pale skin on Lissandra’s arm turned dark, translucent, until her entire form had become a statue of black ice.

And then she shattered, falling away into chunks of nothingness.

And the world began to move again.

Suddenly Ashe’s heartbeat came roaring back into her chest and head, her breath heavy and strained, and the yells and screams of the battle drowned out all else. Pain returned, too, horrid and nearly enough to end her then and there. But...

A great shuddering began in the gorge. Pebbles began to shake, and cracks started to form across the ancient stones of the bridge.

 _Oh no_...

With her one remaining eye, Ashe looked around wildly, a different sort of panic now filling her.

There!

Through it all, Sejuani had remained crumpled where Lissandra had tossed her, like a broken rag doll finally bereft of its superhuman strength.

No. _No_. No no no...Sejuani was too stubborn and proud. Ashe couldn’t let herself believe that…

She tried to call out, but the howling winds swallowed her efforts. She needed to get to Sejuani, they needed to go before—

She flinched when a boulder from from one of the towering mountain sides crashed down, narrowly missing the bridge and almost certainly taking a few trolls with it. The very land itself was collapsing on the now failed attempt to open Runeterra to the Watchers...and Avarosa’s Chosen or no, Ashe was certain the heaving earth would make no exception for her unless she left the bridge immediately.

Ashe stifled the scream in the back of her throat as she dragged herself the impossibly meager distance that separated them. Sweat broke out across her skin for the effort, but finally she had crossed the width of the shuddering bridge.

“Sejuani…”

Bless the ancestors and gods and any powers that were. Of course she was still alive. Of course she was.

However, the sentiment was quickly tempered.

Lissandra had gouged a new wound right back into the original black ice injury that had nearly killed Sejuani to begin with, even larger and more vicious than before. It did not look good...for either of them. Sejuani’s face was grey with pain, but somehow she still managed a smile, bloodied teeth and all.

“Ashe...your eye...but...you did it, Ashe. You did it...you did it…”

“Sej, hush…” Not that she meant it. She felt giddy and nauseated, filled with a hundred nameless emotions at once. The bridge rumbled beneath them again, terrifyingly ominous. “Sej...we have to go. We need to get out of here. The bridge is collapsing.”

She knew the answer even before Sejuani’s smile turned bittersweet.

“Don’t think...I can move so well…” Her breath came with the weakly labored gasps that betrayed a punctured lung, and blood spilled out of the hole in her armor in time with each movement of her chest. “...sorry…”

The bridge cave another heaving groan, and large cracks suddenly spidered across the stone beneath them. Ashe stared for a long moment, realizing the full implication of Sejuani’s words. What it meant for both of them.

There would be no escape.

“You...should...go...still time…”

“I can’t,” whispered Ashe, feeling a wetness start at the corner of her eye, though she managed to force a smile back for Sej. “My leg’s broken.”

Sejuani’s eyes closed at that, a different kind of pain running across her features. When she reopened her bright, blue gaze, it was resigned, sad. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, leaving a streak of crimson.

“I...I am...sorry, Ashe. For everything…”

“Shhh, Sej, don’t try to talk…it’s okay. I promise it’s okay.” She ran her trembling fingers through the wheat-colored short locks of hair, smoothing them flat before her thumb slid down to trace patterns over the old scar on Sejuani’s cheek. She stared at Sejuani, eyes and hands alike desperately drinking in her ever strong features.

The world grew still and silent to her ears for a long, long second.

Ashe leaned down, cupping Sejuani’s face softly. If they were to die here, she would not go without one last act.

She kissed Sejuani, gentle and long and sweet, ignoring the liquid taste of iron from those proud lips, the way her tears and blood alike dripped down to mingle with Sejuani’s own.

Finally she pulled back, vision too blurry to focus properly anymore. “Sej…”

They had always known this was a possibility, perhaps an inevitability of their gamble against the last of the Three Sisters.

“Ashe…”

She felt Sejuani’s hand cup the back of her head softly, a quiet reassurance, and though the edges of her eyes were tight from pain, she still smiled up at Ashe.

“I’m happy.”

Ashe felt her throat constrict, choked with feeling, and bowed her head down into the curve of Sejuani’s neck, greedily taking what little solace there was there. What little time was left for them both.

“Ashe…” Sejuani’s voice was a wheezing shadow of its normal, resonant thunder, and Ashe heard the rare and tremulous fear there. “Don’t leave me... _please_.”

As if she would...even if she were able.

She squeezed one of Sejuani’s hands with her own, even now wondering at all the strength beneath those large palms and normally sure fingers.

“I’m not leaving you, Sej. Never leaving you.”

If her voice broke while saying the words, she didn’t care. She simply pressed her nose and lips tighter against Sejuani’s neck, closing her eyes when Sejuani squeezed her hand back.

“I...Ashe. I want to tell you. All this time, through everything, even with how stupid and selfish I’ve been...I’ve never stopped...I think I’ve _always_ lov—”

“There they are! Ashe and Sej both, I see ‘em!”

Ashe jerked her head upright, pain zinging through her leg and face even from so small a motion.

Impossible...and yet, rushing toward them were Volibear and Olaf, the only two daring to navigate the increasingly unstable disaster that was the bridge.

“Ashe!” began Volibear, and even with one eye, she did not miss how both Volibear and Olaf’s gazes widened upon finally see her face.

An archer without an eye. They knew just as well as her what that meant.

She swallowed. There was no time for this, not now.

“I’m fine! My leg is broken…” No need to state the other obvious injury. “But Sej—”

Her voice hitched and caught, and Volibear was moving.

She didn’t want to let go of Sejuani, but Volibear was already picking her up, suddenly making her great figure seem tiny in his arms. His fur began to quickly turn red.

“Voli,” started Olaf, uncertain for once as he stared at Sejuani. Had she fallen unconscious? “If Udyr can’t—”

“Enough!” roared Volibear, and more cracks fissured in the stone. “We have no time to dally! We must get out now. And I will carry both if needed and leave you here with the bridge, you fool berserker!”

Olaf rolled his eyes and muttered something about not surviving the greatest battle of the Freljord just to die from a bridge of all things. Then he ducked down to Ashe, pausing for a moment.

“Sorry, princess, this might get a bit rough,” muttered Olaf, and then he picked her up.

She was certain that she must have passed out from the pain in her leg for at least a few moments, world spinning in a sickly blend of colors when her limited vision finally returned.

When she blinked back into full consciousness, she found Olaf giving her a fierce and wolfish grin at her, ivory teeth gleaming from the tangled mess of his beard. How was it even possible for a man to grow such a beard? Perhaps Tryndamere could enlighten her.

A vague part of her delirious mind internally informed her that she was no longer thinking properly.

“You’re a tough one alright, your Majesty.”

How she managed to clearly earn the respect of a berserker by breaking her leg and losing her eye was even more baffling to her pain-hazed mind than his beard.

They were moving now, Ashe realized numbly, Volibear and Olaf sprinting their way off of the Howling Abyss, and not a moment too soon.

By the time they had taken the dozen strides to rejoin an anxious group of soldiers awaiting them, a great roar rose up from behind.

The ancient bridge collapsed in a landslide, boulders from the mountain pass dislodging and falling in a storm around them, but as Olaf carried her miraculously, safely away from the carnage, Ashe kept her eyes on Volibear as long as she could, on the precious and still breathing bundle tucked firmly against his massive chest by his two, great paws.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At last, the Freljord has been well and truly united. Lissandra’s threat of the return of the Watchers has been thwarted, and a new age is dawning. With the advent of spring, though, so too comes necessary change.

Sejuani sucked in a breath of the fresh air, staring out over the ramparts of Castle Avarosa. Spring was rising, even if the Avarosan still complained of the harshness of winter. Sejuani could feel it.

The air stung against her lungs, seizing for the briefest moment before the massive scar above her breast almost spitefully eased. It was as though she carried a piece of the Bitterest Winter itself with her now.

The winter had been heavy and cold, but still nothing compared to that horrendous and plague-filled season just barely remembered from her youth. The year the last of her siblings had died, the year the ‘prophecy’ had first been spoken to her...the year that everything had arguably started lurching into forward motion.

It had all started with a terrible winter. Perhaps it was fitting that it all ended that way as well.

There was the sound of the tower door opening and closing behind her, and Sejuani didn’t even need to turn to know who it was. The telltale sound of claws on stone gave it all away.

Volibear lumbered up to her left hand side. He placed both paws onto the edge of the stone wall and then noisily inhaled.

“Ah!” Volibear released a great lungful of air, his nose turned upward to sniff. Sejuani waited patiently, mildly amused. He would speak when he was ready. “Are you ready for our journey north, then?”

Sejuani responded with a silent but brisk nod. She had little in the way of what she considered her own possessions, so packing would be a quick thing. No doubt Bristle would be pleased with the long outing to take them northward back to the Ursine territory; much like her, he had spent too much of the winter cooped up indoors.

Spring was here, and so too, then, was change.

“Are you sure this is what you want, my old friend?” rumbled Volibear.

She did give him a sharp look at the repeated question, narrowing her gaze. “I have more than recovered enough to handle the travel.”

Which was not a lie, though full strength would be a long time in returning. Black ice wounds never completely healed, and she had pushed her body too far beyond its limits too many times. The one glance she had taken in a mirror two days ago had shown her dark circles beneath her eyes, and gaunt, bony cheekbones that only began to hint at just how much her body had suffered for her in order to live.

But she _had_ survived.

Just as always.

Even when everyone else expected her die.

Her lips twisted. She couldn’t stand looking at mirrors anymore, looking at the person who looked back at at her, though for reasons more than seeing the reminders of her own physical weakness. Reasons she preferred not to dwell on.

Volibear gestured with one massive paw, black claws waving through the air.

“I have no doubt you will be fine with travel, old friend, and the Ursine welcome you to stay with us as we care for the Cryophoenix egg. What I mean is...hrm…” He ‘hummed’, though it emerged from his throat sounding like more a growl. “Is this what you truly want? To leave this? To leave the Winter’s Claw?”

Sejuani looked out across the castle ramparts, toward the Ironspikes. Close, and yet far. So much of the Freljord she had walked over in the past years, and the great mountains were no exception.

“The Winter’s Claw is a thing of the past. The tribes are united as one. As the Freljord.” She spoke without any particular feeling, and the wry smile from her lips lacked humor, self-deprecating though it was. “The Winter’s Wrath is no more.”

She had made certain of it. There would be no more strife or civil war, least of all under the twin axes banner she had once risen. Avarosa’s Chosen had shone true, and if there were any who dared question the right to leadership of their new queen, Sejuani would be more than pleased to set such nay-sayers straight. There had been no cause to, though.

“They will respect her strength. All know it was Ashe who slew the Ice Witch, and many saw it themselves. And I have made my opinions explicitly known. I defer to Ashe as the Queen of the Freljord...and Tryndamere as her King.” Because that was what was needed. What the people needed. What Sejuani had to do.

Still, Volibear did not blink or turn away.

“And you wish to leave Ashe, then?”

Ah, there it was. Volibear always was more astute than she gave him proper credit for, though he had typically shied away from pressing into Sejuani’s more personal matters. They were cut from the same fabric, she and Volibear. The thought made almost made her chuckle. Perhaps she should have been born to the Ursine rather than the Winter’s Claw.

But the subject of Ashe…

Something tightened painfully in her chest and her scar jumped in response, pain shooting through her. Sejuani had grown accustomed to ignoring it over the course of the winter. She couldn’t be clutching at her shoulder or losing her breath on the random whim of some old scar tissue.

So much had transpired in the aftermath of the Second Battle of the Howling Abyss...so much and yet so little.

Most of the chaos in the fortnight following the climactic end to Lissandra’s twisted plans had been handled by neither Sejuani nor Ashe, but by Tryndamere, Udyr, Volibear, and countless other captains and stellari. No, Avarosa’s Chosen and Serylda’s Scion alike had been bound to the healer’s beds, Sejuani confined to what had purportedly been her second death bed, according to the accounts.

She remembered nothing from that first fortnight, but for random, nearly hallucinatory shards of what could have been either memories or dreams. Sliding into the cold all over again, struggling, fighting, being forced to stillness by hands she could not see. Going hoarse with yelling. Yelling for Ashe, begging to know that she was okay.

She did remember that. Remembered the healers growing so exasperated that they set up two beds in one room, so that Sejuani could deliriously turn and see that Ashe was still alive and breathing as she, too, recovered.

As she grew to learn about a new life with only one eye.

By the time Sejuani began to regain her mental faculties and pull out of the worst of the fever dreams, Ashe was already gone, already up and about, tending to the thousand and one messes that rebuilding a nation entailed.

And Sejuani...

She had been surprised, really, when her presence was requested. Surprised that the first question prompted to her had been ‘what do the Winter’s Claw need’? But then, that was why Ashe was so fit to rule this new united land; she would never let the past skew her new rule.

Gods, Ashe.

The kiss on the bridge, as the world was literally collapsing around them…

Sejuani frowned at herself when she realized her hand was already half raised to her lips. Her scar pulled at her in a dull but persistent ache.

She instead picked absentmindedly at the high-collar of her doublet, at the silver embroidery atop the rich, deep blue velvet material. It was uncomfortable wearing these kind of clothes, and she would have felt far better in a simple cloth tunic, but all of the clothing left for her by the tailor had been just as much finery as this, if not more, and Sejuani had no other clothing quickly at her disposal with a collar sufficient enough to cover her neck. Her lips pursed as she recalled just how her former stellari would shrug and _mysteriously_ seem to have no spare tunics to fit her. No doubt they enjoyed seeing her forced into silks and tunics just as much as the tailors. Ridiculous.

Of course, even if she had been given a simple tunic, it wouldn’t have been enough to cover the tips of the scars that spidered up from her shoulder and onto her neck, a ghastly white against now unnatural blue skin surrounding it, as if all color had been leached from the tissue and sucked into the black ice that had caused it.

Warriors were not supposed to shy from their own scars. Scars were written tales of the hardship and blood spilt on the path to glory. Yet this was different, and a physical reminder of the betrayal that Sejuani had lured herself into, that had nearly doomed them all. It was no mark that bore bragging to.

In the deepest, darkest parts of herself, she knew it would be a lie to say she did not feel lost. This new era that was dawning, this time of peace and this new world that Ashe was moving from dream into reality...what place did an old warlord have in this world, particularly one who had no sense of self anymore? Her very presence was a thing of contention behind the scenes—she was not so blind as to be unaware of that. And while she cared naught for the suspicions of old Avarosans who were set in their ways, she _did_ care for Ashe and for the still fragile dream that the queen was trying to build.

That her new queen was trying to build. And Sejuani did want her new queen to succeed.

“Sejuani?”

Volibear’s question still hung in the air, open ended. Sejuani inhaled the chill air deeply again. Everything felt so imbalanced, so much more uncertain for her now than what it had ever been. It was time for change.

Sejuani turned and smiled at Volibear, felt the smallest twinkle touch her eyes again at the twisted grin she managed, half-smirk. “I suppose I did conquer the Freljord after all...just as the prophecy foretold. My time here is...it is finished. So ends the tale of Sejuani, no?”

Volibear threw one massive paw around her shoulders, guiding her away from the ramparts, a great laugh echoing up from his belly and making the nearby guards twitch nervously. Ursine laughs were disconcerting at best for those unused to them.

“Certainly not. You have yet to experience the Ursine way of life. And if you no longer have a tribe of your own then I will induct you into my clan...though we may have to change a few of the rites since you don’t have claws...or the capacity to drink quite as much as us.”

“Voli, there are no humans in the Ursine clans…” Still, she smiled even as she shook her head. Perhaps her stay with the Ursine might be a bit longer than she originally planned.

Volibear waved away her concerns into the air as they moved back inside the castle. “Details, Sejuani. You humans and your details…we’ll yet cure you of it.”

* * *

Ashe despised looking into mirrors, though she would never admit the weakness to anyone aloud. How could she bear admitting how horrid she found her own reflection? She had no use for pity, and were even the faintest rumor to persist...well then the pity she saw in so many gazes would actually be justified.

No, she had gritted her teeth from the first day that she had demanded the healer give her a hand mirror, and though the gorge still rose in her throat whenever she had to look at her own reflection, she swallowed it down with a mask of disinterest that doubtlessly would have made even the most duplicitous of merchants jealous.

She couldn’t afford to appear weak...now more than ever. Though arguably more united than ever (what an irony that was), Lissandra’s fall and the dissolution of the Frostguard had left a true vacuum of power. And Ashe _had_ rushed to fill that void. If she hadn’t—and curse that week of bed rest from her injuries—who else would have taken it? Every waking hour in her sick bed had been spent with a growing dread at the prospect of another power struggle, another civil war...no matter what reassurances Tryndamere and Udyr had delivered to her.

There was no time for rest of all things.

And when she had seen how badly off Sejuani still was—moaning in fever dreams and tossing restlessly from yet another fight with death—Ashe had known she could not afford herself even a moment of self-pity.

As soon as she was able, she was demanding to hold meetings, to begin preparing a council of advisors and experts for how to handle the aftermath of war and to ensure a smooth transition into peace. There had been well-meaning protests from many of those closest to her, Tryndamere among them. But she had refused rest then no different than now, had gritted her teeth and stared unblinkingly with her one good eye the first moment her council had gone white-faced before her.

It had become a habit. She would learn to live with it in time. She had to.

Ashe forced herself to look into the mirror now as she fixed her hair back into a tamed braid, as she applied the strong smelling herbal salve to the bright splash of white scars across her face. The eye—if it could still even truly be called that—was ruined. Ashe had known from the moment the black ice had torn into it that it was beyond hope. The misshapen remains of her once piercingly blue eye were cloudy and milky white, unable to track and move, simply staring out from the spiderweb of black ice scars around it. A ghost eye, some whispered, though it hardly granted Ashe any more insight to the spirit world than before.

Unsettling, but there was no time for self-pity.

Still, Ashe hated looking at it—even if she feigned indifference—and she hated the fact that she was so bothered by it.

The salve now applied, she quickly tied the eyepatch into place. Tryndamere had given it to her. Not a strip of spare cloth simply to cover a blinded eye, but a piece of high quality, velvet-covered hide, soft and black and embroidered with complex and tiny patterns in blues and golds and silvers. An eyepatch ‘fit for a queen’, as he had put it, and it fit as snugly over the curve of Ashe’s orbital as if destined for her.

Strange, how hard it was to adjust to losing this one small piece of herself. Being practically carried everywhere for the first month because of her leg had been...oddly more easy to accept. Perhaps because she had known that her leg would return to full functionality, even if the occasional limp still plagued her gait. But there was no magic nor healing that would ever return function to her eye. It was gone, just as surely as Lissandra and her foul plans.

A worthy price to pay then, and that was perhaps why Ashe _tried_ not to dwell on it too much, though it was difficult even at the best of times. She was getting there, though, slowly but surely, and she had to remind herself of it.

As much as she instinctively twitched for lacking the peripheral vision, as much as her palms sweated in both anxiety and _want_ to string and draw a bow again, the reality was that her fear was simply no longer needed.

Change had happened, and even now, the men and women from the highest ranking generals down to the merchants and smiths all spoke of a new era with the dawn of spring. For the first time in millennia, there was but one Freljord, and its people were truly united.

Baffling, really. After all the hardship, the blood, the lost lives...and yet Ashe was the one person who seemed the slowest to believe it.

There was a polite knock on her door, and Tryndamere himself poked his head in a second after she called for him to enter.

“Almost ready?”

Ashe inhaled deeply, looking back into the silvered mirror. “Almost.”

She reached for the true ice tiara that sat on the pillow to the side of the mirror. Her lips thinned for a moment, but then she placed it over her brow. Wearing a crown—and particularly _this_ crown—hadn’t sat quite right with her after all was said and done, yet it had been the one thing that her council had forcefully disagreed with her on. Even Sejuani had been adamant that Ashe not throw away this tradition, not when she was the leader they had all unanimously agreed upon.

So while Tryndamere wore a simpler band of silver, Ashe donned the millennia old crown of their ancestors after it had remained untouched for centuries.

There.

She finally turned from her reflection and stood.

“Shall we?”

Side by side, they walked down the hallway. The halls were clean, well-lit, and there was not the faintest hint of how Castle Avarosa had once been sacked and fallen, and was now reclaimed again. Now it was inhabited not solely by one tribe, but by all who had banded together in the final alliance against Lissandra and the forces who would have seen the return of the Watchers. Perhaps the blood of the brotherhood truly was thicker than the water of the womb after all.

They approached the receiving hall and the two royal guards there—one Avarosan by background, the other Winter’s Claw—both bowed deeply and opened the doors for them. They both risked a smile at her, and neither looked less proud or honored than the other.

“Your Majesties.”

Truly, who would have believed it even a season ago?

The receiving hall was already buzzing with a fair amount of people, even though it was but morning. The advent of spring seemed to have put more energy into the step of the soldiers and civilians alike, eager with the prospect of melting snows and being set free from cabin fever. Ashe and Tryndamere took their seats on the dais, then one of the guards slammed the butt of his spear into the stone floor three times, signalling the start of hearings.

Ashe knew of at least a few persons who would be speaking with her today, and the first who approached was one of those she was ready for.

Quinn had weathered through the Freljordian winter remarkably well for a non-native. It had been difficult enough making the journey from Rakelstake back to Avarosa, but even with the civil war ended, there was no safe way to navigate Quinn from Avarosa back south into Demacia. So Quinn had bided her time through the winter quietly and without complaint, sending ravens to the Demacian capital as soon as she was able to relay the situation.

Now with the passes melting, Ashe had known Quinn would want to seek her way back home as soon as possible.

“You Majesties.” Quinn bowed her head. Valor glided behind her before deciding to take perch on a nearby table, startling the warriors who sat there. “I am indebted to your kindness for sheltering and providing for me these long past months. The snows have been heavy this winter, but with the recent temperatures, the southern passes seem to have cleared up enough that Valor and I can manage through them now. It has been a long season away from Demacia…”

Her voice trailed off, and Ashe easily recognized the wistful tone of homesickness. A long season indeed. Having spent her entire life in the Freljord, Ashe couldn’t even begin to imagine spending nearly half a year from her home in strange lands. She would miss Quinn, in a peculiar and odd sort of way. She supposed enduring life and death situations did that to people; saying farewell to the scout and her eagle already felt like saying farewell to a friend. Quinn’s allegiances had always been to Demacia first and foremost, but that did not diminish the time she had spent in the Freljord.

Ashe nodded.

“We understand your desire to return home, and we would honored if you would accept an escort guard to ensure your safety to the edge of our borders.”

Quinn nodded back. It was a reasonable offer, both polite and fair. Ashe raised her hand before Quinn could bow and excuse herself, though. There was something else still to be done, and for Ashe it was critical to do so before the eyes of her own subjects.

She signaled with a finger for the jeweler who was waiting off to the side. He strode forward, and offered to Quinn a velvet lined box, inside of which was a small and shining ring.

Ashe explained as Quinn took it.

“Consider this token a symbol of the favor bestowed on you by our country for aiding us in our darkest hour. You granted us no small measure of help, and it will not be forgotten in our living memory.”

Quinn turned over the ring in her hand, studying the precious ice stones inlaid in the band of silver. Ashe continued.

“This ring is representative of our continued thanks. Should you ever find yourself in need of any sort in our lands, simply show this ring to any loyal to the crown, and they will give you whatever aid they can. It also grants you right to seek audience with me, should you ever return to the Freljord.”

She watched carefully as Quinn finally looked up. Her gaze was grave, serious, but thankful, and she bowed her head before slipping the ring onto her index finger. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I will wear this token with honor, and look forward to giving a full report to my sovereign, King Jarvan III.”

Quinn bowed a second time, and then backed away from the throne. In her absence, a group of Ursine now approached, and Ashe, too, knew they were looking to give their formal farewells before they also took their leave, going northward to return to their own home. Anivia’s egg would go with them, a deal long since agreed upon. Under Volibear and Udyr’s watch, Ashe did not need to fear for the Cryophoenix egg. Gone were the threads of creeping black ice in her shell. It was whole and blue now, mimicking the changes and new state of the Freljord itself.

Volibear led the delegation of his people. His armor was shined to a polish, no hint of the deep gouges it had sustained months prior during his now fabled duel with the troll king himself. Ashe looked up to meet Volibear’s ever-fierce gaze with her good eye, but then her vision slipped and fell sideways toward the figure who stood attentively to Volibear’s right, noticeably smaller and noticeably human in the midst of all the Ursine.

Sejuani.

Even now, standing a half step behind Volibear and acceding right to speak to the chief of the Ursine, there was something about her that naturally drew the attention of the room. She stood tall and straight-backed, cutting a handsome figure in her blue velvets and her flowing cloak besides the furry mountains that were the Ursine.

As Volibear spoke—the expected words of praise on all that they had accomplished, his intents to now leave with his people back to their northern homeland with Anivia’s egg in their care—Ashe found it difficult to concentrate. Her eye studied Sejuani, but could decipher nothing. Sej stared steadfastly ahead, her gaze refusing to make eye contact with anyone. She could have been a statue but for the barely perceptible rise and fall of her chest.

There were still some parties that spoke in the shadows, that called for retribution and the head of the woman who had nearly doomed them all with her brutal conquest. Ashe had harshly put down even the faintest grumblings of such sentiments. They were, thankfully, just that: grumblings...many from the older veterans and advisors. There was no true appetite for trials or punishments or anything of the sort. No, after all of the bloody revelations of the past winter and the lives lost in the process, it seemed that all parties truly wanted to move on to a new beginning.

Yet that didn’t make Sejuani and everything she had come to represent as a warlord any less...problematic. She had forsworn any claim to the throne, had pledged her tribe to the new kingdom, had publically even bent knee and bowed her head before Ashe—which, _gods_ , Ashe had most certainly _not_ been mentally prepared for. Yet doing all these things did not change who and what Sejuani was at heart.

When the people looked at her, Ashe knew exactly what they saw: a warlord. They saw a weapon. Sejuani had always claimed to have been forged by the winter. Now that proverbial spring had at last arrived, her purpose and place seemed more uncertain than ever before. And for once, Ashe was at a loss of what to do...both politically and personally.

After everything they had endured, that they survived through together…

The words they’d spoken on the bridge, the things said and done...and yet by the time Sejuani had reached convalescence from her injury, they’d had no spare moment for privacy or words. The days had melded into weeks and then into months, until suddenly Ashe realized the winter had passed before them. If anything, the metaphorical distance between them had only seemed to widen, a wedge caused not by violence and enmity, but by some nameless and invisible wall Ashe did not know how to breach—did not know if it was even proper for her to breach. And deep down, Ashe knew she had had no small hand in creating that wall.

But now that Sejuani was here, and in the company of Volibear…

Something akin to dread squeezed her stomach painfully. Then she listened to what Volibear was saying, and a bolt of pain struck through her covered and ruined eye.

“—accompany us back to our ancestral homelands—”

Ashe interrupted, thoughts of decorum fleeing her common sense.

“Sejuani, is this true?” The question came out more accusative than what she would have liked, and she winced at the sound of it against her own ears. Queens were not meant to sound surprised. They were certainly not meant to sound displeased at the rational choices of others.

Finally— _finally_ —Sejuani met her gaze and stepped forward to speak. “I have decided to go with the Ursine back to their homeland, yes...unless...my presence was needed here?”

Whispers broke out across the hall, no small amount of distress present in those who had been born to the former Winter’s Claw tribe. Ashe paid them no heed. Her concern was standing before her. She searched Sejuani’s bright gaze...and found nothing. Nothing that gave her any more answers than those she had searched for within herself during the long and dark nights over the cold winter.

It was better, Ashe tried to automatically reason with herself. Better that Sejuani was choosing to leave of her own accord.

Yet in her most secret and selfish desires she wanted nothing more than to reach out. How she ached for it to be Sejuani sitting at her side, for her to lean over and…

What was she thinking? Ashe was queen now, and had accepted that responsibility even as Sejuani had willingly acceded it to her. What else was she supposed to say? Supposed to do?

Sejuani could have argued for a place on the Council—and truly, none would have been able to reasonably argue against it—but if she had not wanted it, who was Ashe to try to convince her to take it? To stay?

She couldn’t...how could she presume…?

They had both been injured, but in intimately different ways that went deeper than the physical wounds. So too would the healing they each needed be different. Hadn’t Ashe seen that before when Sejuani had recovered from her black ice wound the first time? So how could she begrudge her now?

And yet...and yet...something seized within her, wanting to argue more than ever. Yet her lips remained still, her tongue frozen. All she could do was stare, uncomprehending that it was actually now happening.

Sejuani looked away first, dropping her eyes to the ground, and Ashe was at a loss of words, particularly here before her own council and court. The silence stretched, and a painful beating thudded in her ears.

Then...

“Farewell…” Sejuani bowed, and did not again raise her head to meet Ashe’s eyes. “Your Majesty.”

Ashe stiffened in her chair, leaning forward before catching herself, aware of how Tryndamere had turned to look at her sharply, concern apparent beneath his ever-stern brow.

But what could she say? Sejuani had respected Ashe’s chosen path; how could Ashe do anything but the same back?

So instead she watched. Ashe watched, and was left with nothing but her leaden tongue, the heavy weight of a true ice crown atop her brow, and a deep, persistent ache like that from a dull blow deep within her chest. She watched as Volibear took leave of the hall, Anivia’s egg in his safe strong yet gentle hands, Sejuani following him, not leading. She watched as the doors closed, and Sejuani looked back not even once, her dark blue cloak flowing out behind her like silent water. And she watched from her balcony as the Ursine departed from Avarosan lands—from the lands of the United Freljord, accompanied into the fading northern horizon by a lone woman atop the greatest of frost boars, the broken horned helmet she wore a final, quiet testament to Serylda’s last but perhaps truest heir.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here it goes! The main plot is pretty much resolved at this point (as you can see). I have only one more chapter planned now, which will be the epilogue to all of this and (surprise surprise) focused more on our resident dumb ice babes, Sejuani and Ashe (aka the most stubborn butts on the face of the Freljord, for reals). I hope the ending will live up to expectations. Thank you all for continuing to read and support!
> 
> Cheers!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The new golden age of the Freljord has dawned. For the first time, peace covers the country. But for Ashe, one last piece to the puzzle remains out of place. Epilogue.

Ashe reined in her horse, and the band of warriors around her did the same, giving their queen the leave she desired to stop and take in the surroundings.

This far north, there was relatively little in the way of sight-seeing, and it had been uninterrupted plains and tundra for the most part since they had left the last proper town.

But there, now clear as day on their horizon, was the Ursine settlement. Even farther off to the was the black swirl that marked the Gelid Vortex, though they would not traverse so far north for it to be a concern. No, this was their final stop on their journey.

A royal tour, or that was how it had been phrased. With the days at their longest now that it was the height of summer, and with the state of things in the capital stable as they were, Ashe had been given full leave by the Royal Council and by Tryndamere to take leave on this venture. Indeed, if anyone had been set against it, it would have been Ashe herself. For all that she had initially been the one to speak of leaving, she had been the one at the last minute to dig in her heels and nearly cancel everything. Uncharacteristic of her, she knew, to waffle on a decision. But then, everything about this trip was uncharacteristic, if the truth were to be told. Her slow and meandering visitations to towns and settlements across the countryside as part of a royal tour from the new queen had been a pretense all to simply get to this last, final destination that she now stood on the precipice of.

Ashe instinctively reached out—not for her true ice bow, no, but for the leather bag she had kept with her throughout every leg of the journey. It was still there, of course, right where she had tied it herself to the back of the saddle. The force of habit for reaching out (be it to a bow or a bag), hammered into place from a lifetime of strife riddled with bloodshed and betrayal, was going to take some work overcoming. Not for the last time, Ashe had to take a silent count to ten in her mind, to remind herself that nothing and no one was about to strike out at her, that there was no presence hiding in the shadows and looking to undo everything that they had only but started to build.

No, she mused to herself, the current fallback to the nervous habit wasn’t rooted in true fear for her own safety, but a different sort of nerve-wracking anxiety that had only grown as they had moved north past proper human Freljord lands and toward the Ursine settlement that now sat before them. She wanted to fidget, but that was silly. She had come this far for a reason; she could not lose face now and return to the capital without even trying.

Tryndamere’s gently encouraging face popped into her vision, and she heard his last private words to her before she and her royal escort had left Castle Avarosa.

 _The country will be fine for a month or two while you’re gone. Stop worrying about everyone else for once, and listen to what_ you _are trying to tell you._

He had gestured to his own heart to clarify his words.

As if to emphasize the point, Ashe’s heart beat a fraction a louder. Ridiculous, that the woman unanimously recognized as queen for slaying the Ice Witch would rather face said Ice Witch again than risk, well…

Ashe shifted at the dull ache beneath her breast. It was something she had learned to grow more accustomed to in the long months since Sejuani had left, particularly once she had come to admit to herself just what the heartache was.

She did allow herself to actually pat her satchel this time. In between the layers of personal clothes stowed away in there was the extra backing that she needed to go forth, the reminder that that she was technically here for reasons beyond her own still confusing and personal feelings. The ‘reason’ that the Council and Tryndamere had agreed upon with her to seek out the former Winter’s Wrath was reason enough as to why she couldn’t back down now.

So Ashe took a deep breath, and grabbed the reins again. One thing at a time. First, they needed to get there.

“Come on. Chief Volibear should be expecting us.”

And he was, with the great and fearsome open arms that Ashe vividly remembered. He enveloped Ashe in a deep hug when she’d only just dismounted from her horse. She staggered back from it, blinking at the unexpected and sincere affection.

“Ashe! Come, come, we’ve been expecting you any day since your messenger raven arrived.”

He led her away as most of her escort managed unloading alongside the Ursine, weaving a path along the edge of the massive cliff dwellings that served as the home to his people. Ashe struggled to keep up with his lumbering steps.

“Volibear! That is...I wanted to thank you for your hospitality—”

He laughed at that, pausing only to ‘pat’ her back; even that gentle of a motion from an Ursine nearly made her stumble.

“No need for formalities, Ashe, none of that now. We may allies, yes, but we are friends, too.”

Then he was moving again and Ashe had to jog to catch up as he pointed out various things here and there, explaining facets of the settlement and society that he presided over now that it was no longer inhabited by an entire army ready to move out.

Which was not to say that the settlement was quiet and sleepy in the least bit.

Volibear slowed as they approached a gathering of fellow Ursine, all crowded around to watch something. It was a hopeless effort to look over their towering shoulders, but as soon one of the onlookers turned and noticed their chieftain and Ashe, they immediately parted to allow for a better view of just what exactly the entertainment was.

It was something like a battle circle, but there were no weapons, training or otherwise. Instead, the two combatants were locked in arm to arm combat, grappling for the advantage over one another. One was Ursine, as expected, not even fully grown still. The other, however, Ashe could have recognized anywhere.

Sejuani wore only her breeches and the cloth bindings around her chest, leaving the rest of her bare skin to be covered by the sweat of exertion at wrestling an opponent so much larger than herself. They twisted around in a flash, and then Ashe was granted a much better vantage point of the woman she had traveled all this way for.

Sejuani never had been a small woman. She towered easily above most, even grown men, and a lifetime spent in the harsh winters of the far north under the code of the Winter’s Claw had long since molded her body into a weapon in its own right. The muscles hardened beneath pale skin were there for a reason, and had been but one of the reasons she had seized the brutal right to rule her tribe at such a young age. Of course, after the trials of war, after the life threatening injuries she had sustained not once but twice...well, Ashe had been silent but acutely aware of how much Sejuani’s body had suffered over the winter as she slowly recovered. When she had left for the north, she had ridden thinner and lighter than what she _should_ have been. Ashe was pleased to see that was no longer the case. Whatever diet and rigors life in the Ursine had presented, it seemed to have been the right recipe for Sejuani. Beneath the sheen of sweat, her muscles coiled and moved, sharp and filled out as they were supposed to be for a warrior of her build.

The movements also drew attention to something new.

Great stripes of woad blue color streaked across each pale bicep and up toward Sejuani’s shoulders and back, simple and yet elegant tattoos that—Ashe realized with a start—imitated the gashes that would be caused by the swipe of an Ursine paw.

Ashe’s not entirely innocent study was cut off when the combatants flipped and rolled, both struggling for an advantage, until—

“Hold!”

The Ursine who was overseeing the match raised his paw and called for the end of time, even though there was no clear victor. Both Sejuani and her opponent rose with equally fierce grins, slapping one another on their backs in good cheer.

Then they parted, and Sejuani was wiping the sweat from her brow and turning and—

They made eye contact, and Ashe felt her breath catch and her heart thunder in her ears. Sejuani’s eyes widened in surprise, but she just as quickly schooled her expression and began to walk over.

A heat that was most certainly not from the temperate day shuddered through Ashe.

 _Stop gawking_ , she internally scolded herself.

It wasn’t the first time time she had seen Sejuani in nothing but breeches and chest bindings, gasping and covered in sweat. But whether it was from Sejuani’s all too pronounced absence over the last seasons, or from Ashe’s all too recent acceptance for what it was she _did_ feel, her own breeches suddenly pressed uncomfortably tight between her legs.

There was no time to let herself dwell on it, for then Sejuani was right in front of her, towering in her height as always, her gaze ever intense and all the more fierce for it.

“Ashe! I did not know you were going to be taking a royal tour this far north!” Her gaze flickered to Volibear, silently seeking answers.

Voli first shrugged, and gave what Ashe now knew was an Ursine smile, for all that it was bared teeth. “We are always honored to receive the Queen of the Freljord. Better now in the height of summer than in the depths of winter.”

“Of course,” conceded Sejuani, dipping her head in a bow. Then she looked back to Ashe. “I was just...surprised.”

This close, Ashe was able to notice one other large physical difference to Sejuani. Her hair, which she had kept ever cropped short during the duration of the war—and indeed for the years during the poor relations between their two tribes—had grown long and shaggy during the spring and summer. It was at that awkward sort of length where it was still too short to be pulled into a warrior’s bun or tied up in a single braid. Instead Sejuani seemed to be making do just as it was, twisting a few various locks of hair together into small braids here and there, weaving in gold beads and wires the same way the Ursine decorated the beards on their chins.

Ashe was struck with the inexplicable urge to reach out and run her fingers through that unruly mane and give it some better semblance of order. The odd desire made her blood rise into her cheeks for more than the desire of public intimacy; she might be a queen with handmaidens who attended to her now, but she knew that most of the Freljord still kept to the old customs, where only family or lovers tended to one's hair for them—the Winter’s Claw almost assuredly was no exception to that.

“I…” How was the effect this strong? How was it that now that she was finally here, this close, her words and logic failed her? What was she supposed to say, to do _now_? “You smell.”

That was _not_ at all what she had meant to say, and Ashe immediately felt her cheeks heat up in mortification. Oh _gods_. Great. She only just arrived and—

Sejuani face split into a wide grin and she gave a booming, amused laugh, which only worsened the flush Ashe was now very certain was on her own cheeks.

“Well... _Your Majesty_ ,” she teased, and Ashe tilted her chin up in defiance of the clear joking, trying and failing to ignore how the sharp heat in her stomach only jumped further. “That’s what happens when you’ve been wrestling Ursine most of the morning and afternoon.”

Volibear saved her from her own growing embarrassment by cutting in. He backhanded (back-pawed?) Sejuani’s arm, guffawing.

“Go make yourself presentable for your Queen. She’s come all this way, after all. And we’ll be having dinner soon.”

Ashe dared a sharp glance at Volibear. His phrasing...did he…?

But his bright eyes, eyes that had seen gods knew what in the depths of the Gelid Vortex, didn’t allow her to guess at anything that the Chief of the Ursine might or might not already suspect himself.

No time to ponder the idea, though. Sejuani shrugged and mopped her still dripping face with the balled up tunic that she had yet to put on.

“Alright, alright...I suppose I can manage that.” Her gaze dropped back down to Ashe, and she bowed just the slightest bit, prior mirth now dissolving away before something far more uncertain and measuring. “I’ll see you at dinner then, Ashe.”

Then Sejuani was striding away.

The rest of the casual tour through the settlement that Volibear offered barely registered in Ashe’s mind. Oh, she offered the appropriate comments and thanks, nodding absentmindedly when Volibear said he would have her belongings sent to the rooms she was to be put up in; she did, of course, politely insist on keeping her own personal bag that was slung over her shoulder with her. The contents were too precious to be allowed in anyone’s hands but her own.

Dinner, for her, could not come soon enough, though it was not for want of food.

The great dining hall, like all things Ursine, seemed to dwarf the human equivalents. Massive long tables lined the vaulted room, and Ashe was given a place to sit at the high table alongside Volibear and the Ursine elders. And alongside Sej.

Sejuani’s wheat-colored hair was dark and wet from bathing, and she now wore a simple sleeveless leather jerkin to go with her breeches and boots. Still high-collared, though...enough to ensure that the blisteringly large reach of scar tissue left over from her final encounter with black ice was still kept modestly hidden. But then, thought Ashe as her own hand ghosted over her eye patch, was she no different than Sejuani in that regard?

They dined inside—a seemingly endless procession of meats on plates and bowls that made Ashe feel like as though she were surely child-sized by Ursine standards—and then afterward moved through a torch-lit winding staircase until they emerged on top of the great frozen cliff itself. A spread of rugs and furs and stumps for sitting on were laid out around a great bonfire, and the Ursine were quick to pass out cups of some clear liquor that they had brewed themselves.

Everyone settled around the fire, drinks in hand, relaxing and talking. Ashe disdained saying anything right away, still at awe with her simple but impressive surroundings.

This far north, the concept of night was as foreign to the summer skies as was day during the depths of winter. Even though it was well past supper, the skies continued to flame with a sun that had yet to set, lending to a sort of timeless and ethereal quality to everything.

Of course, the drinks no doubt helped there, too.

Like everything else, the ‘cup’ that Ashe had been handed was comically large for a human, particularly someone of her stature.

 _More like a bowl of liquor, really_ , she thought as she risked another cautious sip from the contents. Ashe had not sampled the Ursine brew during her last stay in the settlement. But then, they had far more pressing matters to plan for at the time.

How hard it was to believe that all of that had happened less than a year ago, that they had not even been certain if they would live to see the dawn of another week out. And now…

Sejuani was splayed out on the rugs, laying down with her head propped up by one elbow, the other hand swirling her own cup of liquor.

Gone was the rigid tension from that last time here, the heavy and desperate cloak of guilt that seemed to have dogged Sejuani’s every step. Her grin was genuine, and the shadow that had hung over her even when she had taken her leave of Avarosa seemed to have at last dissipated.

Her injury was surely healed, then, judging both by the exertion of the afternoon, and by Ashe’s reckoning based off of her own scar tissue. No more wheezing or shortness of breath.

Still, there was something else to it. Something different about Sejuani now, not in a bad way...just...different. She was less quick to speak or act, and Ashe could practically see the cogs turning behind that surprisingly astute gaze before her mouth would open to contribute to conversation. Gone were the bruise-like rings of exhaustion that had hung beneath her eyes over the winter. All of the weight and muscle she had lost from her grievous injury had indeed been replaced and then some. She had, Ashe thought none too lightly to herself, filled out very nicely during her stay with the Ursine. Sejuani lounged easily, sipping from her ‘cup’, content to let the conversation meander along its own path.

It was as if something else had not simply recovered with the physical wound, but slowly relaxed and emerged. It was a Sejuani that Ashe had never fully seen before, and a strange sort of envy toward the Ursine and Volibear suddenly struck her within her chest, for they had been given the rare and precious gift of knowing and seeing that side of Sej rise from the embers of war and loss, while Ashe had stupidly cut herself off, practically hiding away in her castle under the stubborn pretext of duty.

Her grip tightened on the ceramic cup in her hands. Duty, honor, responsibility…

And here she had accused Sejuani how many times of willful ignorance because of her hard headedness. What a hypocrite she had been.

Her heart thudded painfully for a moment. Hopefully she was not too slow this time, hopefully she had not wasted and spent all of her chances, and maybe, just maybe..

Sejuani glanced up, and caught Ashe red-handedly staring at her. Ashe felt her cheeks warm—or was it simply the liquor?—but refused to be the first to look away. Then she did end up hurriedly dropping her gaze when Sejuani pushed herself upright, shuffling over.

“A bit different than what you’re used to, I’m sure.”

Ashe hummed in response as Sej sat down next her, their finger scant inches apart on the floor now.

“Yes and no,” admitted Ashe after taking another sip. “There’s always so much going on nowadays, but these sort smaller, private gatherings…”

She sighed. Time had done wonders. Though the old memories of her mother used to be nearly too painful for her to bear, now she could dwell on them fondly, remembering a different, simpler age in her life.

“It reminds me of when I was younger, when the tribe was still more spread out. Things felt smaller.”

“That they did,” agreed Sejuani softly.

Not for the first time, Ashe wondered. She wondered how Sejuani felt about...everything. Born and bred to be a war leader, had she felt lost once their war had ended? Did she still feel that now? The questions hovered on the tip of her tongue as she glanced at Sejuani’s profile...and then melted away.

They didn’t need to speak, she realized. The silence between them wasn’t stretched, but comfortable, and they were both equally content to bask in the growling conversation that was the banter between Ursine. Easy enough.

Except suddenly the Ursine were stretching and yawning with their great white teeth and disappearing back into the massive cliffside dwelling that was their settlement, and Ashe realized with a start that her ‘cup’ was long since emptied, and the the sun was _finally_ about to fully set. They were practically the last ones left beside the dying bonfire embers.

Sejuani stood first, bones creaking as she offered one large hand out to aid Ashe up.

“Come on. It’s late. The sun will be rising in just a few hours.”

Which made the thought of sleeping inside the windowless, den-like quarters of the cliff suddenly much more appealing.

Ashe grabbed her bag and wordlessly followed Sejuani inside and through the maze of cavelike corridors.

They stopped short, and she realized they were at Sejuani’s chamber...and that she hadn’t the faintest clue where her own room was for her stay.

Sejuani must have realized the same, because her brow furrowed, and she opened her mouth to speak, but Ashe cut her off.

Perhaps it was the alcohol giving her courage, or perhaps it was her own impending shame at the thought of just leaving the night like this without saying anything. Regardless, Ashe spoke before first. Thinking could come later.

“Let me in?”

It was only half a question, and while Sejuani’s eyebrows rose in surprise, she nodded once and then opened the door, closely it gently behind them both. There was already a fire crackling in the hearth of the room, casting the stone carved walls in a warm, yellow light. Ashe looked around at the humble quarters, not so different than how Sejuani seemed to have ever kept herself before. There was a rack for holding weapons, and the heavy plate armor she had worn for so many seasons as a warlord was oiled and carefully kept in one corner, even if Ashe suspected there was little use for it as of late. The sleeping pallet was as simple as expected, a bed with not cotton or silk sheets but of layers of furs and wool blankets.

It seemed more inviting to Ashe now than any royal mattress painstakingly made for her in the palace.

Her gaze finally and fully returned to Sejuani, who had said nothing during Ashe’s silent scrutiny of her room. Rather, she leaned back against the stone doorframe, her own gaze decidedly quiet and hidden as she looked right back at Ashe.

“You’ve enjoyed your time here with the Ursine.” It wasn’t a question, and Ashe knew the answer before it was even spoken.

Sejuani pushed off from the frame, breaking her eye contact with Ashe and properly stepping into her room.

“I have.” She turned her back to Ashe, busying herself with smoothing out the furs over her bed, as if they even needed it.

It distressed Ashe, abruptly and unexpectedly, being unable to see Sejuani’s face, being able to even guess at what she was thinking. She was only privy the view of Sejuani’s back, and her eyes traced the tattooed stripes as they jumped and moved with the muscle that lay beneath skin.

“Sej.”

Ashe had set her bag down and stepped forward, but was suddenly at a loss when Sejuani did turn to face her. Something... _anything_...to give her an idea of what Sejuani might be thinking, of if...maybe…

“Volibear told me that you’re part of his clan now. The first non-Ursine ever, apparently.”

Again, not quite what she was planning on saying, but some of the cautious distance in Sejuani’s eyes broke and eased, and her lips twitched upward in a suppressed grin.

“When an Ursine comes of age, they are inducted into one of the clans. It’s not blood related, but by request and choice.” Sejuani rolled a shoulder—an old habit of self-consciousness that Ashe now recognized, though Sejuani didn’t look away. “Volibear offered me a place in his clan...so I accepted.”

“Oh? And does his clan have a name?”

Sejuani cleared her throat slightly. Oh yes, definitely self-conscious. “...Storm-Claw…”

Ashe laughed then, rich and full of mirth, and she stepped closer, watching the way Sejuani’s throat moved as she swallowed. Sejuani Storm-Claw, the Winter’s Wrath. It seemed fitting somehow.

“And these…” Ashe raised her hand to Sejuani’s bared biceps, stopping herself the second before her fingers would have brushed skin. How she wanted to draw her fingers along the sharp lines of deep blue, to feel the press of muscle beneath her touch. She forced herself to speak instead. “Are these part of being with the clan?”

“They are.”

 _Gods_ , but how she wanted…

“Ashe.”

She jerked her head upward at her name, and met Sejuani’s now burning gaze. How had she ever thought those eyes cold, when they screamed of emotion and heat roiling just below the surface.

“Ashe... _why_ are y—”

Ashe swallowed heavily, and then gathered her courage. “Let me see your tattoos.”

There was a pause that stretched for an eternity. Then Sejuani’s hands moved to her leather jerkin. Slowly, methodically, and never breaking eye contact with Ashe, she removed the sleeveless material, dropping it to the floor. Then Ashe had to swallow again, and heavily. Sej hadn’t put on her usual cloth bindings on after bathing, and her very naked skin now shone in the light of the fire.

Nudity was hardly something either of them were unused to. Warriors, both men and women, had little use in the way of modesty. Being unclothed, whether it was for hot springs or for battle circle, was something doubtlessly both of them had grown up around. But this was far different, and far, far more intimate.

Ashe did finish reaching out this time, her fingers pressing against the streaks of color inked into pale skin. She traced over them, feeling the periodic scar here and there that criss-crossed with the blue, feeling the always strong and steady muscle beneath it all. She traced, and walked around Sejuani at the same time, following the curve of the tattoos to her backside and shoulder blades. It was a leisurely investigation, and Ashe felt herself transfixed by the human landscape Sejuani’s body was to her.

By this point her skin was twitching like a fly-stung horse under Ashe’s touch, but she remained unmoving, and so Ashe continued.

She studied the contours of Sejuani’s back with nothing short of fascination. The way her muscles rippled like a liquid carving over bone, the way the woad followed the natural shape of her shoulder blades, the way her spine created a small valley between those shoulder, just the perfect height and size for Ashe to place her hand...or for her to...

Ashe leaned in and pressed her lips there.

Sejuani sucked in a choking breath, wheezing out her name, before turning around to face her. Her hands reached out to grip Ashe’s shoulders. “Ashe…”

Ashe felt dizzy then, and was both suddenly glad for the grip keeping her in place, and also acutely aware of how Sejuani’s touch was muffled and muted against her skin by the fabric of Ashe’s own tunic. All of the desire she had spent months upon months denying, repressing, and then finally trying to control, came roaring through her blood, hotter and more heady than any alcoholic drink concocted by human or Ursine.

“You don’t make it easy.” Sejuani’s voice, though controlled and even, was belied by how her breath came short and heavy, as if from sudden physical exertion.

Ashe dropped her gaze to the naked black ice scar that now stood at the same height as her vision. It was so much more vast than her own, testament to just how much deadlier it had been for its bearer. Yet never once had Sejuani complained, had she even willingly shown how much pain it must have caused her both physically and otherwise; and Ashe knew it had. She knew with the certainty that came from her own experience.

She reached up to very gently press one heated palm over the unnaturally cold and colorless skin of Sejuani’s black ice wound.

“No,” Ashe finally responded, her voice quiet and somber. “No, I know I don’t...that I haven’t.”

And she was sorry for that, truly, more than she could ever express.

“But I’m here now, Sejuani. I’m here.”

It was time to stop thinking.

She linked her hands around the back of Sejuani’s neck, and leaned up as Sejuani leaned down to meet her in a kiss. It was soft, but only for a second.

If the shaking, perceived first and simultaneously final kiss shared on the Howling Abyss nearly half a year before had been chaste, this kiss—though without reason to be hurried or frenetic—was anything but.

Ashe felt like she was drowning, like her lungs were burning, yet not for lack of air. It was as if Sejuani was her lifeline, as if everything in her life thus far had been a story leading up to this point, and in this moment she needed Sej more than anything else in life itself, or she would surely shatter into nothingness.

More. She wanted more. She wanted everything Sejuani would offer, and then some. She wanted to see the proud woman in front of her come undone, and she wanted to see all those scattered pieces that made Sejuani who she was, that no one else was privy to even dare look upon..

They kissed, and Ashe clung to Sejuani, desperate to hold her there and never let go.

Sejuani’s hands reached up under Ashe’s silk tunic, stroking up her ribs until they found curve of her breasts, the pebbled flesh of her nipples. Ashe jerked back and whimpered at so intimate a touch, one that she had never permitted before. Sejuani took the opportunity to tease her a moment longer, and the coax her out of the tunic entirely.

The tunic had only just been cast aside and then Sejuani was moving faster than Ashe gave her credit for. A small yelp escaped her throat when Sejuani’s arms wrapped around her waist and she was picked up and carried to the bed.

Sej didn’t need to drop her into the soft furs, or push her onto her back. One second Ashe barely had time to wrap her arms around Sejuani for added support, and the next she was being laid onto the pallet, Sejuani’s eyes like two fiercely burning beacons hovering over her.

If there was any question that she felt the same...well, Sejuani never had been one for words, but her actions now left little room for confusion.

Ashe dragged her nails down Sejuani’s spine, relishing in the drawn-out groan she elicited, in the way Sej’s eyes squeezed shut and her powerful arms trembled. Then she regained control, dipping back down to capture Ashe’s lips with her own, heated and feverish with the need touch her.

Her lips and hands alike very carefully slowed when they reached the edges of Ashe’s eyepatch, though. It was a respectful sort of skirting, not meant to be questioning; but with Sejuani looming over her, her own vicious black ice scar bared to the light of the fire and to Ashe’s good eye, Ashe felt for the first time since she had awoken in that sick bed so many months ago the desire to rid herself of the eyepatch. It felt like barrier, no different than her clothes, than the crown she had worn when Sejuani had left Avarosa, and Ashe had done nothing behind the mask of propriety.

Ashe pushed herself up on her elbows, and Sejuani pulled back to give her space.

Where others would have spoken, would have insisted there was no need for it, Sejuani remained silent, her gaze piercing and understanding in way that could not be expressed with mere words.

The thin leather strap came undone, and the velvet eyepatch fell down soon after. Ashe pulled it aside, placed it onto the night table, and tried and failed to bring her gaze back up to Sejuani.

“Ashe.”

When she still couldn’t manage to look up, Sejuani instead leaned down, kissing her way up the scar tissue with a slow sort of reverence, with an understanding Ashe felt no one else possessed, and the gentleness of it was enough to make her one good eye suddenly prickle with emotion.

“You are beautiful.” The words were whispered in her ear, and Ashe shivered, heat racing from beneath sternum directly to her groin. She shifted without meaning to, body silently demanding more; Sejuani readily obliged.

She maintained the same gentle exploration, her mouth meandering down Ashe’s jaw, the hollow of her neck, spending generous time at each breast, before delving toward her stomach and hips. Ashe’s breeches were tugged off and cast aside, removing the last of the barriers that separated them. Still, Sejuani remained surprisingly unhurried, taking her time to kiss and nip and drag her fingers everywhere except exactly _where_ Ashe wanted her the most. She was shaking and gasping when her last vestiges of self-control finally crumbled apart. Her body felt on fire, and she was desperate in a way she had never felt before.

“Sejuani.” The name broke past her lips, and Sejuani stopped, resting her cheek against Ashe’s inner thigh, and staring up at her with a glinting certainty that said she was well aware of precisely what her current effect was on Ashe.

Ashe floundered for a moment.

“Don’t even think of stopping…” she warned. Her voice came out much less imperious and as far more of a waver than even she expected.

Sejuani chuckled deeply against her leg, and Ashe felt more than heard the laugh. “For you, my Queen? I wouldn’t dream it.”

Then she closed the final distance between them, and Ashe had to throw her head back into the pillows, groaning and digging her fingers into Sejuani’s scalp. There was no room in her head for conscious thought. For once, she was more than glad to surrender that control.

* * *

When Ashe awoke, it was to a sudden and drafty absence of warmth by her side. She blinked groggily with her one good eye, fighting back the still instinctive desire to flail and try to get full vision of the room. Sejuani was crouched by the hearth, slowly stoking a new fire into life. Ashe forced the haze of sleep from her eye, blindly reaching toward the side table where she knew her eye patch lay.

“Don’t need to get up.”

Sejuani hadn’t even turned around yet, and her own thick and unused voice told Ashe that she too must have only just woken up. The fire was poked at a bit more until it was crackling decently, and then Sejuani finally stood to her full and still unclothed height.

“What time is it?” It was impossible for Ashe to tell in the cave-like rooms that the Ursine used as their quarters. No windows let her guess to if the sun was even risen again.

“Early enough,” responded Sejuani. “The first drum for morning breakfast only echoed a little bit ago. You can sleep more if you want.”

Sejuani returned to the bed, but Ashe felt fully awake now.

She tangled her fingers in Sejuani’s wild hair, kissing her unhurriedly now, relishing in just being with her, in just being able to do something so simple that had once seemed so impossibly foreign to her. The kiss deepened, quickly shifting from comforting to something more carnal. Sejuani shifted further back onto the bed, and Ashe felt a hand run down her ribs and her hip and—

Her stomach interrupted with a very loud, very distinct and plaintive gurgle.

They parted, both blinking, and Ashe felt the embarrassment  surge across her face as Sejuani leaned back and laughed. Ashe accepted the quick peck she was given though, unable to even get a word in as Sej grinned at her in well-meaning humor.

“Perhaps other types of hungers are in order of being sated first?”

Ashe nodded through her mortification. They had time, after all. She didn’t need to rush, to be frantic, and Sejuani seemed just as aware of that, too.

So instead they both forced themselves from bed, reaching for clothes. Ashe had finished pulling on her last garment when she grabbed for her eye patch a second time, instead knocking it from the night stand. She began reaching down to reclaim it from the floor, but Sejuani squatted down, collecting it first.

Sejuani stood, started to bring the patch of velvet up to Ashe’s face, and the stopped herself sharply, as if realizing the boundary that she was pushing. She didn’t ask, didn’t say anything. But then, Sej never had been the one for words. She simply tilted her head the slightest of angles, and that simple motion alone spoke everything.

Ashe licked her own lips once, and then nodded, folding her hands into her lap as Sejuani began gently tying the eye patch into place. She could feel her own hands trembling against her legs as she held them to forced stillness. The leather was tied into a perfect knot at the back of her head, the patch now resting neither too loose nor too tight over Ashe’s blinded eye. Sejuani finished by pressing a soft kiss to the top of Ashe’s head.

But as Sejuani drew her hands away, Ashe moved, grabbing them with her own.

“Sej.”

She opened her eye again, catching and holding Sejuani’s now confused gaze. Wasn’t this what she had come all this way for? She had sated the first of the questions that had plagued her heart. Now it was time for the other.

“Come back with me.”

Sejuani blinked, and though her jaw was firmly closed, she might as well have been gaping. “I...Ashe…”

“Come back with me,” she insisted a second time, catching and holding Sejuani’s gaze. She wouldn’t force Sej to anything, but she also wasn’t about to let silence remain her biggest regret. “I want you at my side, not just as a lover, but _with_ me. Beside me.”

Sejuani stumbled a step back, something akin to panic flashing across her face. And yet there was something else too, something betrayed by the way she clenched her fists now, by how she stuttered at first...and old habit that Ashe knew Sejuani was loathe to lapse into.

“Ashe...I can’t—the new kingdom. I _left_ because it was what was _needed_ —I’m a warlord, not a, a...”

Ashe made a sound of vexation now. How many months has passed with both of them spoon feeding themselves that lie? How long had it taken Ashe before she was willing to look at herself in a mirror and admit the true and debilitating cause of her shame? Of letting her life continue to pass her by with each setting sun. No more.

Words _were_ a waste. Sejuani had never understood words. Perhaps Ashe needed to speak through her actions, no different than she had last night, if for somewhat different reasons now.

She turned abruptly, and reached for her satchel of belongings, for the precious item stowed away in the layers of clothes.

From the depths, she pulled out a treasure. Crafted by master ice smiths, the crown of true ice was not even a season old yet, a sister to the one that Ashe wore while in Avarosa and court. The design was different, both bolder and yet more simple, shapes that hinted at the tusks of boars, the antlers of leaping bucks, and the frozen wilds of the north.

She turned, holding it carefully with two hands, and Sejuani went still as stone.

“Ashe.” Her voice hitched oddly, taking on strangely pitched tone. “What is this?”

“What do you think?” She couldn’t help but let some of the wryness into her voice. It was a rare thing indeed for any to boast of catching the famed Sejuani, the Winter’s Wrath, so cowed and off guard. “It is a seeming design for a Ruler of the North, designed to compliment my own crown of the East, and Tryndamere’s crown of the South.”

She took a breath and continued, trying to speak lightly and offhandedly. “I must say, the Council was rather pleased with the final result by our master crafters. If the new kingdom is to be ruled by three, it wouldn’t do for one crown to look less than the other two.”

Ashe glanced up, finding Sejuani’s mouth open and ajar with disbelief.

“It was made for no one but you. And if you do not wear it, then no one will.” Ashe realized how stern her own voice had grown, and tried to lighten it. “I will not force you to this, Sejuani. You are your own person, free to make your own choices.”

Not that she truly believed anyone could make her famously pig-headed rival do anything against her will.

“But the offer stands. You did not lead your tribe for so many years simply because you were a warrior, and I do not believe you—I do not believe _either_ of us—survived everything for...for nothing. Not for one of us to go into self-imposed exile and the other to rule in solitary.”

“The Freljord already has a queen!” Sejuani’s voice sounded weak, though, and Ashe did not miss how Sejuani swallowed, her eyes darting again to the crown that Ashe held.

“The Freljord can have two queens,” retorted Ashe calmly.

Whatever words were bubbling to Sejuani’s lips stilled and died, at an impasse.

Ashe spared her for a moment, for hadn’t she herself been just as much of a skeptic? Hadn’t she struggled to to allow herself to hope and believe after so many years of forcing herself to relinquish personal desires? How long had it taken Tryndamere arguing to her to once, just once, maybe let herself try something that was maybe, maybe just a bit more selfish than usual. In truth, it was terrifying. Even now, fear flooded her, different and more intimate than any she had known before. The Council had willed it, the provisions had been drafted, and the public support was mutually agreed upon, and yet it was not certain. Nothing was certain beside Ashe finally standing here, an offer that any other would jump at, that Sejuani herself a year ago would have seized unblinkingly. Yet now she hesitated, and Ashe feared to even think about what could happen next. To offer her life for a nation was one thing, but it paled in comparison to baring her heart now.

She looked down toward the crown in her hands, rubbing one thumb idly against the forever cool true ice.

“That had been the original idea, you know. Avarosa’s own design before the uprising and the betrayal. She had been the youngest of the three, but had believed in the strength that came from them collectively. The idea had been not to have one, single ruler, nor even two, but three. One for each of the Three Sisters, a triumvirate.” How astonishing it had been to her, to find the evidence squirreled away in the old scrolls of the and runic writings of the Rakkelstake secret libraries, the ancient evidence of a different world that had been planned but for the choices of Lissandra. History had played out differently than Avarosa would have seen, but they held the reins now, and the decision going forward was their. In that singular idea, Ashe had to maintain her belief. “Three rulers, so that at least two must always agree before a new course of action. Whether you will it or not, Sejuani, you are part of this nation, and you have been instrumental in leading it to what it is today. You have molded the world the people of the Freljord will prosper in. Who else would I dare choose? Who else would be worthy to stand as an equal at my side, not simply to work alongside me but to argue with me when they see a better option?”

There were none, and they both knew it.

Ashe raised her chin, trying to muster every last fiber in her to look imperious. “Who said a queen could not have another queen?”

Sejuani didn’t step forward, but she also didn’t step back again. That was a start.

“No one has ever done this before,” muscles in Sejuani’s jaw clenched and gritted as she spoke. “There’s never been more than one ruler.”

“No one has ever united the Freljord before either. And it wasn’t _one_ who did unite the Freljord, Sej. And everyone knows that. Everyone remembers it. Your people…” Ashe took a breath and dared a bit more. “ _Our_ people.”

Ashe raised the crown an extra inch higher.

“It could be a disaster. We could end up at each other's’ throats. It might not work at all for ruling.”

Ashe shrugged. “Maybe. But maybe not. It would be three of us, after all. I think we would learn how to work things out.”

Sejuani looked at Ashe now, raising her eyebrows, and the first glint of something touched her eyes again.

“Even if I drive you mad at times with being boorish and pig-headed? Even if you drive me mad with being noble and proper?”

Ashe flushed, but managed to raise an eyebrow back. “Not if, but _when_. And even then...yes. This was a decision agreed upon by more than just me, Sej, and for a reason.”

Sejuani hummed at that, but the hum was neutral, untelling. Finally she spoke, her eyes thoughtful but guarded. “Did you come all this way just for this?”

“I would have come regardless,” Ashe responded automatically. Then she tempered it. Wasn’t this what she was trying to work on? “I came for you, Sejuani. But...I did also hope…”

She trailed off, uncertain and suddenly feeling vulnerable for even admitting that much. Still.

“I can do this by myself if I must. I have to for reasons greater than me. But that isn’t want I want, that isn’t where the true strength of our people has ever been drawn from. I want you by my side, and I want to be by yours, if you would have it so.”

If Sejuani would have her.

Would she?

The silence stretched between them, unbroken and heavy.

And then Sejuani dropped to both knees, tilting her head downward. Ashe gaped for a long moment, caught off guard. Was she, was Sej _actually_ …?

When Ashe couldn’t find the words, Sejuani’s voice emanated up to her, confirming everything.

“If you will offer it to no one else, then I refuse to accept it from anyone but you, Ashe.”

It was only the weight of the crown that kept her hands from visibly trembling. However she had expected things to go, she had not expected this. But she was not going to say no. Delicately, carefully, she placed the crown onto Sejuani’s head, until the band of true ice rested just above her temples. Then she dropped her hands.

“Rise, Sejuani.” Her voice felt strangely far away, her lips dry, and Ashe had to lick them briefly. “Queen of the Freljord.”

Sejuani stood to her full and impressive height, and the new crown twinkled against her brow, a perfect fit. Even wearing simple leather and cloth, she was imposing. And she was lovely.

Damn decorum. This wasn’t a throne room anyway.

Ashe stood on tiptoe, grabbing Sejuani’s face between her hands and dragging her down for a rough and hungry kiss. When the finally parted, Sejuani’s hands were resting firmly on Ashe’s hips, teasing Ashe with the idea of what they could do if the fabric there were conveniently discarded aside again.

 _Get it under control, woman. You just put your clothes on_.

She took a deep breath and a gave a silent count to three, and then frowned when she saw Sejuani giving her an absolutely far too smug grin.

Sh cleared her throat, trying to regain some semblance of her usual control again.

“You do realize there will still need to be an official ceremony,” admonished Ashe. “And before you ask, yes, you will need to wear proper robes for it. Not leather and fur. The tailor will have a fit if—”

Sejuani cut her off by leaning down to kiss her again, and when they parted, Ashe was left more breathless than she had anticipated.

“—if...if you dress like a wildling.” She managed to finish, albeit weakly. There. She was hardly about to let Sej think that a kiss could render her speechless.

Still, the all too pleased grin that broke across Sejuani’s face already said she thinking as much, even if she had the sense not to voice it.

“I guess I can manage silks and velvets for a day...but if he thinks there won’t be any fur involved…”

“ _Sej_.”

Sejuani laughed, and her eyes sparkled with the life behind it.

“Come on.” Sejuani offered a hand, and Ashe slid hers against it, entwining their fingers and squeezing for a moment. “Let’s go tell Volibear.”

Ashe stole one last kiss, and then, hand-in-hand and only somewhat silly grins decorating their faces, they stepped out through the doorway.

A new era of the Freljord indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Okay. So first off, WOOO I FINISHED. Nothing like finishing a big multichapter fic. I believe this is my 3rd one ever, and I'm tremendously proud of it. A year and a half ago, I embarked on a writer's journey to tell a tale of the Freljord and how I foresaw the characters, events, and political climate playing out there: in short, a civil war, focusing on the two biggest players: Sejuani and Ashe (of course with the ultimate pairing at the end).
> 
> When I started writing this, I was coming off a bit of an odd sort of slump. I didn't know what I wanted to write, I felt like I was too dependent on wanting lots of reader kudos and comments, and my headspace didn't feel so good because of it. So I threw everything to the wind and decided to write the Freljord epic that I'd always wanted to write for me and for me alone.
> 
> And let me tell you, readers, the most flooring, humbling, and amazing part was all of you. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine I would have people actively reading, following, and commenting, and your comments and support meant the world to me while I was pursuing this story. There aren't the words to describe how thankful I am that you went on this journey with me.
> 
> I hope the final product lived up to expectations, and I hope you enjoyed this process as much as me. Thank you again for your constant support, and happy fic reading!
> 
> Cheers,  
> Logos

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all.
> 
> At long last I've finally decided to start writing out a Freljord epic, or--as I like to say for short--the story of the civil war of the Freljord, centering around Sejuani and Ashe. A very large shoutout goes to suqling, without whom I don't think I would have been able to flesh out the ideas behind this. A few important notes regarding this story and chapter quickly. I am writing this based off of League of Legends lore, in a world without the League. Most importantly, this means that I'm adhering to the lore which states that Lissandra herself corrupted and rewrote the stories and histories of the Freljord over centuries; in short, the general populace (Ashe and Sejuani included) know of Iceborn Lissandra as having been no different than Avarosa or Serylda, and do not know that Lissandra sided with the watchers OR that Lissandra is one and the same as the supposed "Ice Witch" (or that she "is" Princess Lissandra). Just something to keep in mind.
> 
> Questions, comments, and really anything is always appreciated!
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy.
> 
> ~Logos


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